


right beside you is where i'll stay

by ianmalcolms



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Desmond Miles Lives, Hospitals, Lucy Stillman Lives, M/M, Major Character Injury, Slow Burn, Star Wars References, They're All Besties Okay, Visions and Dreams, William Miles' A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 58,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25225216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ianmalcolms/pseuds/ianmalcolms
Summary: desmond survives the second catastrophe and has to get used to both the consequences of living and falls stupidly in love with his friend along the way.  there's also the juno being lose in the world problem. minerva talks to desmond in riddles.
Relationships: Shaun Hastings/Desmond Miles
Comments: 38
Kudos: 44





	1. 21st December

**Author's Note:**

> ive been a fan of the assassins creed series since no age and thought id attempt to write a lil story - i do have an overarching plot planned out it's just getting there that's the problem oof but im gonna try and stick with it bc i dont like to leave people hanging. SO, i hope you enjoy :))

The last thing that Desmond remembers thinking before he loses consciousness is _huh, Juno really lied when she said this would be painless, fucking bitch._

* * *

A cloud of thick dust spits four assassins out of the cavern and sends them heaving and coughing on the ground. Below them, the temple growls and there is a deafening noise as it collapses in on itself, sending another wave of smoke to rush out and encompass them. The grass trembles and the trees shake. They stumble back from the area unsure of whether or not the ground will sink and swallow them too. Despite moving to a safer distance, the ground still vibrates under them. After what seems like forever but is only truly 3 minutes, there is a final hiss and the raucous below stops.

The assassins stare at the opening of the cavern dumbfounded and silent aside from their heavy panting until retching to the left startles them out of their reverie. William Miles leans a shaky arm on a tree trunk and continues to heave until he can’t anymore. He wipes his mouth with the hem of his jumper and sits on a tree stump with his head in his hands. Shaun and Rebecca share a wary look whilst Lucy unclasps the bottle of water from her belt and hands it over to him. William takes it with a wave and takes a swig.

It’s silent again for a while as each assassin remains deep in their own thoughts. They lost one of their best men today. Not just a man but a friend too. But he managed to save the world — there were no more cataclysmic events due (caused by the universe any who. Humans on the other hand…). They could go home, right? Their job here was done.

William stands slowly and looking up at the cavern opening says “We should go back down, to see if…” and he trails off.

Shaun manages to sputter out a response. “You want to go back? The second we set foot in there our insides will be decorating the walls. Or did you forget that the place just collapsed beneath us, hm?”

“What Shaun means to say,” Lucy punctuates with a glare, “is that it will be dangerous and we need to be careful in our movements. But Desmond wa— is important to us and I think going down there and finding him, no matter what state he’s in is the least we can do.”

Shaun doesn’t think that’s what he meant to say but he doesn’t dispute it either because everyone is looking at him like he killed Desmond himself. It’s not that he doesn’t want to retrieve whatever is left of Desmond, it’s just that his self-preservation has kicked in and the last thing he wants to do is die after literally just escaping death.

William and Lucy don’t wait for a response and begin the walk back up the hill towards the temple in silence. Watching them go, Rebecca finds Shaun’s hand and grips it in her own.

“We have to try. We didn’t try last time,” she whispers. When he turns to face her, her eyes are glistening with unshed tears.

Shaun knew she was referring to Subject 16. Clay had worked with Rebecca and Shaun for a year and had become one of their closest friends; they went resource hunting together and on the rare occasion where they were allowed, went to the bars and drank together. After his capture by Vidic, they never heard from him again except for when Lucy emailed them with his status. When the email containing details of his suicide came through, they were both overwhelmed with emotions: grief, anger, and guilt.

After 16’s death, Rebecca and Shaun vowed to not get close to anyone who came after him. They knew how expendable the Order treated some of their own and Subject 17 would be no different. Except he was.

Desmond was William’s son — the Mentor’s child —and so Desmond’s life and protection became of the utmost importance. But Desmond being considered ‘assassin royalty’ as Rebecca had put it once didn’t matter to them. What mattered to them was his dopey jokes and stupid face. He was always the first to offer them tea and coffee in the morning, always the first to offer himself up for night watch and always the first to notice when something was upsetting or frustrating a person around him.

He was so hard to ignore and Christ did Shaun try …

… but fail.

Desmond was different from Clay in many ways but similar in that they had both wormed their way into their hearts unexpectedly, and left an ache in their wake.

So Shaun squeezed Rebecca's hand, showing her that he understood and they followed William and Lucy back into the temple.

* * *

The temple was a death trap; Shaun would rather be anywhere but.

Columns had fallen on their side and large pieces of stone had chipped off and were strewn around the chamber floor. Other columns had tumbled on top of each other and were now blocking various pathways. A narrow rift had opened in the ground, stretching from the mouth of the temple straight through to the end of the main chamber. The air was dense with dust and made it difficult to distinguish in which direction they were moving or where the ground dropped off into a bottomless pit.

There had been no time to move their equipment out before the upheaval and so glass shards from the computer monitors lay scattered over the ground. The animus had broken into pieces under a large mass of rock. Rebecca ran her fingers over the headrest with a deep frown. She knew they could acquire the parts to build a new one but ‘Baby’ — Shaun refused to refer to it as such but Lucy and Desmond had cooed at it as though it were an actual baby — was ‘special’.

The only discernible feature that could be identified was the glowing blue gate at the end of the chamber.

This was where they had last left Desmond. That was where he would be and so that was where they needed to go.

Each of them switched their flashlights on and taking small, deliberate steps, made their way towards it whilst also being extremely careful of the fracture in the path where they walked. Lucy made hurdling over the columns look almost graceful and Shaun saw Rebecca scowl at her out of the corner of his eye — Rebecca looked more like an elephant in a ballet class: she sat on the edge of it, swung her legs over and jumped down, landing on all fours with a grunt and kicking up more dust.

“Always so nimble Becca,” Shaun snarked. She shoots him a middle finger.

The four continue on without much difficulty; everything is stable enough that they are able to quickly vault themselves over any obstacle with ease. They work largely in silence with the occasional input from William (who trailed ahead) about upcoming obstructions.

It takes perhaps another 15 minutes to make it to the gate wherein they come across a slight problem — the gate was protected by a luminous blue veil again. The three power sources must have been destroyed or knocked out of place.

William kicks a large stone and lets out a string of curses before turning to face them again, “There has to be a way around. We can’t stop now”. His eyes are bleary and his shoulders are slouched. He looks tired.

They search the area for openings, knowing it was hopeless because they had done this when they first attempted to open the gate, but they weren't willing to give up. The power sources are nowhere to be found either. They're running out of options fast, the notion of leaving empty-handed seeming more and more possible.

Something catches Lucy's eye.

At the highest point of the gate, the light is flickering. She picks up a small stone and chucks it at the faulty area — the stone passes through it and they can hear it bounce and land on the other side. They have a way through.

It takes 10 minutes for them to form a plan of action. It was agreed that Lucy and Shaun would be the ones to scale the walls and make their way over the gate, with William and Rebecca on the radio to guide them. Should they find Desmond, William was to run out to the van where they kept cables, ropes, and nets and bring them back for the extraction process.

Scaling the wall doesn't take long; there are ridges that run along its length for them to grip. It's getting down that presents a problem. Once they've reached the top, the light flickers for only a few seconds at a time meaning they have a slim time frame to jump the gate and reach the wall on the other side.

Lucy grabs another stone from beside them and throws it when the blue light reappears — it chars the stone, the faulty 'electricals' (for lack of a better word, they never worked out what sustains the light) causing it to spark. No pressure then.

They stall for a moment, watching the light for a pattern in its flickering. The longest they have is 5 seconds. Shaun chews nervously at his lip and Lucy goes first. She swings her left leg over and using her left hand, grips the wall on the other side. Then she pushes herself up using her right leg and swings that leg over too. She makes it successfully just as the light switches again. And then it's Shaun's turn.

Shaun has been trained in free running and parkour, it is an essential part of being inducted into the assassins. But he has never been as active in the field as Lucy has, preferring instead to remain behind the safety of his computer screen and so he's not as confident in his abilities as her. Perhaps it was a mistake to offer himself up but Rebecca is even worse at parkour than he and William is too large a person to fit through, broad shoulders and tall height.

Shaun wonders if there's an insult aimed towards his own body underlying the decision to choose him for this part. His mother had picked at him for being too skinny, always pushing him to eat bigger portions. And Desmond teased him relentlessly about being smaller than him ("I'm 2 inches smaller than you Desmond!" "Shaun I can't hear you, you're too far away" he had replied with a smirk).

He copies Lucy's actions exactly and is about to pull his right hand away from the wall when the veil lights up again, Shaun's arm caught in the middle of it. He thinks he hears the other three shout and swear at him but he isn't sure because he can't focus on anything other than the searing heat at his elbow. It lasts only for a mere second but it's enough. He pulls his arm back and it has cut straight through his sweater and shirt and reached his skin. It isn't bleeding, the heat enough to cauterize the wound shut, but it is bright red and pulsing.

Rebecca's voice crackles to life on the coms, "Shit, Shaun are you okay?"

"I feel like I've just stuck my hand inside the sun but yes of course, of course, I'm completely fine Rebecca. Tip-top and dandy, if you will!" Shaun thinks he's panicking only slightly.

Lucy tugs at his other arm and encourages him to keep going, they're so close. He follows her, cringing every time he has to move his right arm and no those aren't tears threatening to slip from his eyes. It's just that he's in insurmountable pain right now.

He continues on and they eventually reach the bottom. Shaun immediately moves to discard his sweater and rips the sleeve of his shirt away from his burn. The area is already beginning to bubble. After she's informed the other two on her radio that they've made it, Lucy unclips her water bottle and sloshes cold water over his burn. Then she pulls out a small roll of plastic wrap from her fanny pack and winds it around the area. It hurts like a bitch and he squirms the whole time. Rebecca calls him a baby.

It dawns on them both quickly where they are. In front of them stands the device that had saved the world and slumped beside it is the man that saved the world. They run to Desmond.

Lucy kneels down and cradles his head in her hands, resting her forehead against his. Shaun lets William and Rebecca know that they found him and is bombarded with multiple questions. He ignores them and clutches Desmond’s hand and takes in his appearance.

Desmond's jacket is covered in dust but it’s his right sleeve in particular that catches Shaun’s attention. It is completely black with soot and smells burnt. It has torn open in some places and Shaun can see that the skin underneath is severely singed and red, similar to his own only a lot worse.

Shaun looks at his face and decides he looks peaceful — there is no bleeding effect to startle him and no nightmares (that weren’t even his) to tear him from his sleep. Shaun knows he should be delighted that his friend is at peace, for all he’s done he thinks it’s the least he deserves, but he selfishly wishes he wasn’t. He wishes that Desmond would wake up and start muttering in broken Italian or Arabic because at least they were signs that he was alive.

Shaun reaches his hand up Desmond’s left sleeve and traces the lines of his tattoo. Shaun would never admit it but he always found Desmond’s tattoo to be extremely appealing. In fact, he finds himself regretting not admitting to Desmond a number of things. He supposes he’ll have to mutter them over his casket now.

He’s too deep in thought that he hasn’t noticed Lucy shaking his shoulder and pointing until now. He glances at what she's pointing at, the arm he's already holding, and sees what has her worked up. Desmond’s veins are glowing gold. His arms and neck are slowly lighting up like a Christmas tree.

Shaun notices that he can feel a faint pulse in the wrist that he's gripping. He whispers as much to Lucy who scrambles to place her hands at the pulse point behind his ear. Her breath catches in her throat and they look at each other with wide eyes. She shakily reaches for her radio and speaks into it.

“Desmond is alive”


	2. 23rd December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> desmond wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me writing my summaries: girl you have done it again, constantly lowering the bar but doing it so flawlessly!
> 
> disclaimer: i am in no way a doctor. ive done as much research as i can when it comes to the issues im going to write about and i have tried to portray them as accurate/informational(??) as possible but if you see anything questionable do tell me.
> 
> tw / medical imagery especially towards the end, Des throws up [starting "Dr Arteaga must notice" and ending "and some tissues."]

The first thing that Desmond remembers thinking when he regains consciousness is  _ jesus, can whoever is talking shut the fuck up. _

* * *

“  — not logical to say that who we are is determined by the position of planets. A person isn’t simply born intelligent, they become intelligent through years of education, not because the bloody sun says so.” The voice sounds exasperated like they’ve had this argument, whatever this argument is, countless times. They continue on: “You're basically saying that anyone whose sun sign hasn’t got intelligence as one of their traits is stupid!” The voice sounds slightly angry, “Now that,  _ that _ is stupid.”

Desmond wonders where he is— the voice isn’t American but last he checked, he was in America. He forces himself to wake up but he feels exhausted. He doesn’t feel grounded to his body, the voice loses its coherence and swims around his head. He has no idea which direction they’re coming from. Drugs?

He becomes aware of individual words again as another voice speaks, this time female. “Why is it so hard for you to accept that maybe the planets have some say in who we are? It isn’t completely illogical.” The woman lowers her voice before continuing, “In the last 24 hours we’ve spoken to Gods and saved the universe, we essentially  _ time travel  _ Shaun, there are things less plausible than astrology and yet—”

Desmond thinks  _ Shaun?  _ He knows that name. Saving the world? Something in the back of his brain itches. It hurts to think about so he doesn’t.

“I don’t know Becs, maybe it’s the scorpio in me, hm? Aren’t they supposed to be stubborn? Maybe that’s why I’m such an asshole all the time because I’m a sc—”

Desmond thinks  _ Becs _ ? Becca? Rebecca.

The realisation of who these people are and what had happened hits him like a ton of bricks (though he feels like that has happened regardless). He can hear a rapid beeping to his left and the voices stop talking immediately. His eyes move under his eyelids rapidly and he begins to twitch his fingers. He can’t feel his fingers on his right hand and maybe that should concern him but it doesn’t. Not right now anyway. He wants to wake up.

He can hear Rebecca and Shaun talking in shouted whispers to each other.

“Should we get a doctor? What if he’s crashing? William and Lucy aren’t here, what do we do? Rebecca!”

There's a sound of skin hitting skin and Shaun lets out an undignified “Ow!” of pain before Rebecca starts shouting over him. “Shut up, Shaun! You’re stressing me out. He’s waking up, we just need to be calm and not make him anxious.”

“Forget Desmond, you just slap—”

“And I  _ will _ do it again now shush!”

Both of them quiet down again. Desmond can hear the beeping fade away again. His chest feels less compressed and he sucks in a large breath. Then his eyes snap open so violently he sees stars for a few seconds before they clear. He’s staring at a white ceiling.

A hand waves in front of his eyes before it’s slapped away with a hissed “Rebecca!”

Desmond thinks he would like a drink of water or perhaps something stronger. He tries to turn his body to face his friends but finds that he can’t. Something pulls at his arm and he looks over to see himself hooked up to an IV bag. The beeping was a heart monitor. He’s in a hospital. 

He looks down at his body and manages to ask, “Am I wearing a dress?” It comes out slurred. He becomes aware that his throat is scratchy and his lips are numb.

He hears laughing beside him and lifts his eyes to meet Shaun and Rebecca's. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Shaun smile before. Apparently he says this out loud because it’s replaced with a scowl in seconds and Rebecca doubles over.

“I’m just delighted that I have new material to blackmail you with. Big, burly Desmond Miles in a darling gown. I think the other assassins will love it” Shaun’s smile returns at the prospect, not as bright as it was before but it’s still there. Desmond thinks it suits him.

“Are you in any pain?” Rebecca asks him and her eyes rake the length of his body before landing on his right arm. It's been wound up in plastic wrap and then wound up again in cotton bandages. Desmond frowns at the sight, he doesn't remember that happening. He says no.

“Okay well, can you stay awake ‘til we get a doctor to you? There’s a bunch of medical hoo-ha they need to tell you. Also, maybe don’t tell them about how the last thing you were doing was talking to an insane, humanity hating Goddess — they might ship you off to a psych ward. We told them we got caught in a bonfire, easy to explain you and Shaun’s burns.”

"Burns?" he asks and Rebecca and Shaun share a look. Rebecca is frowning when she answers, "Like we said, there's a bunch of medical jumbo they need to tell you and we aren't allowed to disclose anything to you about it before they do. Sorry," she shrugs.

Desmond nods in understanding. He has never noticed how quickly Rebecca speaks, her mouth continuing to run a mile a minute. He closes his eyes and thinks about Rebecca's words: an insane Goddess? Juno, his brain supplies. He feels dizzy and tired.

“Hey, wake up. Stay with us for a minute,” he hears Shaun say. He punctuates his words with a click of his fingers but he doesn’t sound irritated, just patient.

Desmond opens his eyes again and glares at Shaun. Then he notices the bandage on Shaun’s arm, similar to his own.

"What'd you do to it?" he slurs.

“I got it trapped in the gate whilst trying to save your stupid arse. You should thank me, you nearly cost me my life," he sighs dramatically. Rebecca slaps Shaun on the back of the head and the sight makes Desmond feel fond irritation.

“Fuck you, man” he spits out but there’s no heat. Then he remembers something, "and for the record, you're just an asshole. Astrology has nothing to do with it." The last thing he hears before he passes out is Rebecca’s loud guffaw and a huff from Shaun.

* * *

“Mr Miles?” a woman inquiries. She's not Rebecca.

Desmond’s eyes flutter open and for a second he feels a surge of fear. He can’t see Rebecca or Shaun, only this unfamiliar woman with a clipboard beside his bed.

Oh right, hospital.

The woman is wearing teal scrubs and is petite and round. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a loose plait and her cheeks are flushed in contrast to her white skin. He can see she has a tattoo peeking out from under her sleeve.

“Remember me?” she asks. He doesn’t, but he doesn’t want to seem rude either so he fumbles out a mixture of words:  _ miss, doctor, mrs nurse? _

He kicks himself. He was great at remembering names, it was part of the reason the patrons at the bar loved him (other than his amazing drink-making skills). She doesn’t seem offended though, only smiling and introducing herself.

“I’m Emma and I’m one of your nurses. I was assigned to you when you first came in. Is it alright if I go through some questions with you?” She has large blue eyes that are almost childlike in their roundness and Desmond feels a twinge of jealousy at the life he sees in them. He nods dumbly.

“Any pain?” she asks first.

“I can’t feel my right arm, but that’s all” he replies. A silver of surprise shows on Emma’s face but she conceals it quickly and says that she will inform his doctor once she's finished with him.

“Alright, these questions are simple. It's just a case of reciting information you already know,” she explains and once he nods, she continues.

“Full name?”

“Desmond Miles”

“Date of birth?”

“13th of March 1987”

“Home address?”

Desmond takes a second to think about this one. He hasn’t been ‘home’ in a decade. He doesn’t consider it his home anymore. His home is wherever he and his team can find shelter to set up the animus.

“Umm, the farm?” Emma frowns at this and he continues on quickly, “The black hills back in South Dakota. I haven’t been home in years, I’m sorry I don't remember the exact address.”

“You don’t have an updated address for your current location?”

“I move around a lot,” he answers vaguely. It isn’t a lie.

She raises an eyebrow at him but says nothing, only scribbles something onto his file, and then asks him one final question: “Next of kin?”

“My dad, um, William Miles." At the mention of his name, he wonders where he and Lucy had gone. Shaun had mentioned them before.

Satisfied, she closes his file and places it in the folder hanging off of the bottom of his bed. She checks his heart monitor and IV bag and then tells him that his doctor will be in later to update him on his recovery.

Before Emma leaves, he calls out to her. "I— can you tell me what day it is and where I am?" he trails off, feeling stupid but she ignores his discomfort.

"It's just after 1 pm," she points to the clock above the door, "on the 23rd of December — You've been in a comatose state for nearly two days. You're in Lewis County General, New York. Get some rest Mr Miles, you'll recover soon enough.

He thanks her and when he's finally alone with his thoughts, he realises that he doesn’t know what he’s actually recovering from or why he's in here in the first place. He falls back to sleep in confusion.

* * *

Desmond dreams. He dreams that he is back on animus island only there is no Clay here to welcome him. The gates in the center of the island no longer glow blue and the water that surrounds the land is angry, crashing up against the gates and biting at the rocks. Desmond looks around in fear. The last time he was here, he was in a coma and the place had destroyed itself … this can't be possible.

He feels the ghosting of a hand on his shoulder and spins around wildly to find Minerva standing there. She has a smile on her face, though it is sad and sympathetic. She flutters in and out, her connection unstable and weak.

"What am I doing here? I shouldn't be here, this was destroyed. How?" his mind is running in circles trying to find answers.

Minerva holds out a hand so as to placate him and when she speaks, her voice is soft and quiet. "Fret not, Desmond. You are safe. I only wish to pass on a message. You must find Him. You have little time to prevent His capture." 

She begins to fade and Desmond reaches a hand out as though he could physically stop her from leaving. He panics and asks her, "Who? Who is he! How much time!"

"The Son" she whispers before she disappears.

He shouts for her but there's no answer. He places his hands on his head as he paces in circles.  _ What the hell just happened? _ He notices a glowing light in his peripheral- it starts off dim and slowly gets brighter. He looks at his hands.

His veins of his hands are bright gold and whatever is inside of him moves it's way up his arm, lighting the rest of his body up.

Desmond wakes with a start, his breathing ragged. He feels sweaty. He's gagging for a drink of water.

Desmond sees someone at the side of his bed startle and he rushes an apology out, "I am so sorry, I didn't know anyone was in here." 

He realises it’s Emma. She regains her composure quickly and laughs, “My bad, I shouldn’t have been looming so ominously over your bed. I was just checking your heart rate. Everything looks good!”

She then informs Desmond that it's time for his 20 minute exercise which involves a walk around the ward and some stretches for both arms.

She secures his bad arm into a sling to keep it elevated whilst they walk which helps with blood flow. It takes him a minute to sit upright in bed, having not moved much at all this last while and as a result he feels a little dizzy. His legs are shaky and weak, no doubt a side effect of having very little energy stored and finds himself leaning on Emma. He feels awful about it because he dwarfs her but she seems nonplussed by the extra weight.

Emma makes the walk more entertaining. She tells him how she loves to skydive and Desmond makes a note to introduce her to Rebecca. She discusses hospital drama with him in a hushed voice, telling him how X and Y are dating but Y is secretly seeing Z. Desmond gasps and jokes along which makes her laugh loudly before they remember where they are and fall hushed again.

He's slightly embarrassed when he has to use the toilet, having to keep the door cracked in the event that he falls so that Emma can rush in to help. Nothing happens though and he washes his hands. He stares at himself in the mirror: there's a fair amount of stubble beginning to coat his jaw, patchy and thin. He’s paler than usual but he supposes that was to be a given. The only problem is it accentuates the redness under his eyes and on his jaw where there are small whiteheads forming. He splashes cold water on his face and figures it will have to do for now.

Emma picks up the conversation where they left off and they walk back to his room.

Lucy and William are waiting there for him. After helping him back into bed with some of William’s help, Emma leaves the room and gives them some privacy. William pats Desmond’s neck before sitting back in one of the plastic chairs. He's cradling a coffee in his hand and Desmond longs for a tiny sip.

Lucy bends down and presses a soft kiss to his forehead and asks him how he's holding up.

Desmond would always have a soft spot in his heart for Lucy. Sure, they didn't work out romantically and he did actually stab her once (granted it wasn't  _ his _ fault) but he thinks she's one of the most incredible women that he's ever come across. She always remained strong despite everything and always provided encouraging words to those who needed them. Desmond admires her.

It still surprises him that she remained with the Assassin order, in particular their team, after the events that occurred after they left the Colosseum vault. He, Shaun and Rebecca had sat with her in hospital whilst she recovered from her stab wound; the atmosphere was awkward. They were forced to question her harshly and Desmond hated every second of it. Plus, he had been the one to put her there. 

But she was patient throughout the whole ordeal, explaining how she was working as a triple agent but couldn't let neither the Assassins or Templars know lest her cover be blown. She knew she had fucked up when she offered small tidbits of information to the Templars ( _ uh, you think? _ Shaun had scoffed) but figured it was a small price to pay for a larger prize: obtaining Templar secrets. She stressed that her true allegiance would always lie with the Assassins.

It took a few days for them to fact check her story with outside sources obtained by William but once it was agreed that she was telling the truth, Desmond had cried in relief. He didn't want to lose her.

"I feel fine. Just a little tired. And I look gross ," he gestures at his bandaged arm.

"Well thank God you know it" his father mutters and Desmond blows a raspberry.

"It's the beard," he groans, "it's itchy and I look like a pubescent teen. "I can't really do anything about it, I only have one working hand," he mutters.

Both Lucy and William look thoughtful and then Lucy lights up, "I can do it!" 

So that's how he ends up with a wash basin sat on his bedside table, provided by a nurse, and Lucy bent over him with a razor (also provided by the nurse) in her hand. They had been given a travel size bottle of cheap shaving cream which Desmond turned his nose up at when he saw it wasn't his usual Gillette cream.

Lucy slathered the cream around his jaw and began to skate the razor along his left cheek carefully, her silence a sign of pure focus. Up close he was able to see how tired she was, her under eyes darker than usual and her face blotchy and red in some areas. He could tell that she hadn't washed her hair in a while and she had it scraped back into a bun. 

"You okay?" he murmurs. She offers an unsure nod and shrug in response.

"There's a lot to be done at the moment but just let us handle it," He raises an eyebrow in question.

William answers for her. He's pulled an iPad out from the satchel by his food and is typing rapidly.

"We need to be out of this town as soon as you recover. No doubt Abstergo has heard about the Temple collapsing and will be investigating, we're too close to Turin and will need to move so they don't find us. There is also the Juno issue — she's God knows where stirring up God knows what and we need to find her before she does anything destructive. Shaun and Rebecca are appealing to the Order to get some more resources allocated to us. We've holed up in an apartment complex not far from here until you're discharged."

The Juno issue … "So, we did it? We stopped the second disaster?" Desmond asked. He assumed they did, considering he's sitting right here but he wants to hear it said out loud.

"Yeah, yeah you did it. And you're damn well lucky you're alive. We don't know how but we aren't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. You're with us and that's what matters." William says. The tone in his voice says the discussion is final. Desmond wants to pry but he knows better than to.

Lucy has moved to his chin now and is carefully skirting the razor across his neck. He can't help but think about how she could stab him in the neck with the blade right now, she is an assassin after all. Instead she moves to his right cheek.

"I had a weird dream earlier. Minerva was in it. She told me we have to find 'The Son' and that there isn't much time to prevent his downfall. Do you have any idea who she's referring to?" 

William hums in thought and taps something into the iPad, no doubt making a note for later. Then he takes his phone out and taps again, "I'll pass it on to the other two." The phone pings as Rebecca sends him a thumbs up.

"I was glowing too. These gold streaks running up my arms, all along my body." Lucy's hand freezes on his cheek and she looks back at William. His face is devoid of emotion. There's something being left unsaid here.

"What aren't you guys telling me? I want to know!" he demands.

Lucy clears her throat, "When Shaun and I found you, you were glowing gold. All over your body, just like you said. It stopped just before we arrived at the hospital," her voice is distant as though she's reliving the moment.

"We've been looking into it but we can't find any information on what it could be. Have you experienced it since?" William asks. Desmond shakes his head. 

"We'll keep looking into it," he affirms.

Lucy washes the remainder of the cream off his face and taps his cheek, "all finished, Des. Your baby face is back." He slaps her hand away.

"Anything else we can get you?" his dad asks.

"I'm alright. Thanks for coming."

Emma arrives and informs them that visiting hours are nearly over and that they’ll have to leave soon. She looks apologetic. William and Lucy throw their coats on and William places the iPad into the satchel and slings it over his shoulder. 

Lucy squeezes Desmond’s hand and wishes him a good night's rest and he squeezes back and tells them to be safe. William gives him a small wave as he leaves and then he's alone again. 

* * *

A knock at the door wakes him up. A glance at the clock tells him he’s been asleep for nearly an hour and a half: it’s now 6pm. 

A tall, black woman walks in: she's all sharp angles and edges. Her corkscrew hair bounces above her shoulders with a fringe that sits along her eyebrows. A pair of glasses hangs around her neck. She has a calming presence, appearing cool and collected. Her scrubs are navy blue — he thinks she must be a doctor. 

She gives him a polite smile "Apologies for waking you Mr Miles, I'm Dr Jackie Arteaga. I have quite a few things to run through with you, is that alright?"

"Desmond," he says automatically, "and yeah, no problem," she nods at him.

"Desmond," she nods, "are you in any pain at all right now?"

"No. I still can't feel my arm."

She scribbles a note, "Have you been informed at all about what happened after you arrived here?"

He hasn't and he tells her as much.

"You've suffered severe third degree burns, running from your fingertips straight to your shoulder. You were in a comatose state when you arrived and were taken in for immediate surgery to remove a lot of the damaged tissue. There is extensive nerve damage as the burn has reached underlying tissues known as dermis which explains why you can neither feel nor move your hand or arm."

She nods towards the IV bag, "Saline and Ibuprofen, to keep you hydrated and reduces any inflammation around the area. After the surgery, your wound was covered in an antibiotic ointment and wrapped with non stick dressing. For the duration of your stay here a doctor or nurse will clean the wound once a day and let it air before rewrapping to prevent infection. Any questions?"

Desmond let's go of a breath he wasn't aware he was holding. It's a lot. He has tons of questions but he doesn't even know where to start.  _ Why me?  _ He shakes his head.

“How uh— will it heal by itself or will I have to have further treatment?” he asks instead.

Dr Arteaga closes the door.

“Bad news, huh?” he says with a smile but it’s more of a grimace. He feels butterflies in his stomach and not the good sort that indicates a rush of nervous excitement, like when you’re left alone in a room with someone you're attracted to (and God did Desmond know that feeling well). Rather, the sort that feel like they’re taking over every crevice in your body and crawling their way up your throat, choking you from the inside.  _ That  _ sort.

"No, it won’t heal by itself. The area is too large and the damage is too extensive. As for treatment, I do have some news to share with you, although I wish it was more positive,” She tells him.

“We think the best option is amputation; the damage done to both tissue and nerve cells is extreme. We’ve been monitoring you closely and have noticed a lack of circulation in and around your limb which is another cause for concern.”

Desmond’s body runs ice cold and he feels frozen. His chest is tight and his fingers are tingling. He twitches his head as though trying to shake what he had just heard out. Dr Arteaga notices his discomfort and sits down in a chair beside him, then places a hand on his arm and waits. When Desmond looks back to her she asks him quietly, “What are you feeling right now?”

“I feel … anger. I just— I didn’t think it would be this bad, thought maybe it would just heal over time with the proper care,” he scoffs but it sounds choked, “— so stupid!” His voice gets louder, almost shouting. He doesn’t mean to shout at her, she’s just the messenger. But it’s hard to contain himself when he feels so much  _ rage _ . She hands him a tissue; he didn’t even realise he was crying.

“Your reaction is totally completely valid. A lot of patients have the same reaction when they receive such devastating news and I have to say, it never gets easier to deliver it. Treatment as extreme as this is always a last resort and I’m so sorry it had to come to this.”

They sit in silence for a while, punctuated by Desmond’s heavy breathing and then he nods and gestures for her to continue. She looks unsure but begins to talk again.

“Before surgery the condition of your healthy limb will be assessed to see if it will be able to take on the added strain. If you wish, you can talk to a prosthetist before the surgery but you won’t be able to receive a prosthetic immediately as the limb will need to fully heal. We’ll also introduce you to a physiotherapist who will guide you through the post operative care. Do you have any questions about pre surgery care before we move on to the procedure?”

“Are you gonna be carrying out the surgery?” If he’s getting a limb removed, he’d rather have a familiar face in with him.

She recognises the underlying anxiety within the question and says, “Truthfully, I won’t be, no as I’m not qualified. However, I will be assisting and will still be in the room. I believe the acting surgeon will be visiting you tomorrow but you have nothing to worry about. He’s our best and he’s easy on the eye,” she winks and he huffs a laugh despite himself.

“During the surgery you’ll be placed under anesthetic, won’t feel a thing. It’ll be stitched up and bandaged and that’s it. It’s a simple surgery and there’s very little complications.”

“How long will it take?”

“If I had to guess an average I’d say three hours. The surgeon will be able to give you a more accurate time tomorrow after he’s assessed the area.”

“And after? How long do I have to stay in for? Not that I’m rushing to get out of here y’know, you guys are great and all I just—”

She laughs, “It could be anywhere from five days to two weeks. You’ll begin physiotherapy soon after surgery and will have to continue it even after you’ve been discharged. How are you feeling now?”

He still feels angry but he no longer feels rage. There’s a twinge of disbelief as though this is another dream but looking at Arteaga’s face he knows that isn’t the case. He mostly feels overwhelmed at the information thrown at him. He expresses this all to her.

"I understand, it is a lot to take in but the surgery won’t be happening immediately. You have time to think it all over and start planning ahead. We’re going to make your recovery as easy as possible for you. You’ll have the utmost support," she says.

Speaking of, he thinks,  _ shit _ . “You wouldn’t happen to know if the people who arrived with me know any of this?”

She shakes her head, “I can go inform them now if you wish, they’re only a phone call away.” She heads towards the door but he stops her quickly.

“No no no, no that’s okay. I’ll, ah, tell them tomorrow when they visit”

“That’s okay. I have one more thing I’d like to do with you today and it might be a bit disturbing. I need to clean your wound.” Desmond blanches. He can’t exactly say no.

She strips the dressing off carefully, making sure to not tug any skin. It's a slow process due to such a large area being covered. Desmond stares at the wall. Eventually there's a breeze on his shoulder where the dressing ends and he knows his arm is bared. He takes a look.

The limb is charred brown completely. There are areas where the charring has seemingly flaked off and underneath it the skin is a pale pink, almost white. He imagines it feels leathery judging by how it seems to be both wrinkled and taught at the same time. His fingers are swollen. 

Dr Arteaga must notice something on his face because she whips out a disposable sick bowl and directs his head towards it. He gags and heaves into it — it's mostly bile. He spits and sits there for a moment, just looking into the bowl before moving away and sitting back in the bed. She whisks the bowl away into the bin and hands him a glass of water and some tissues.

"I'm sorry," he says. His throat hurts and his nose is beginning to run. He dabs at it with a tissue.

"Don't be. I’m sure it’s quite the shock to the system. I would have done the same."

He feels embarrassed nevertheless and apologises again. She only smiles at him and begins to anoint and dress the wound. He doesn't dare look back at it and opts to stare at the ceiling the whole time instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont proof read these bc having to read your own work?? id cringe and have to delete the whole story :)  
> if you want any tw added to the start lmk.


	3. 24th December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> des tells the team and gets poked at by 100s of medical staff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MmMmM i dont really like this chapter tbh, it's a bit of a filler chap and not much happens. basically just tells what a day in the life of staying in a hospital is, pretty straight to the point but anyway :/
> 
> tw/ medical talk, medical imagery, a panic attack. (lmk if you want something added)

Desmond had a restless night spent mostly tossing and turning. He couldn’t get his mind to rest no matter how many childish sleeping exercises he did.

He was … struggling, to put it simply. His life centered around his role as assassin and he no longer knew where he could possibly fit in such an environment without his limb. Sure, he could work the “desk job” and aid missions through the information he obtains through his journeys in the animus but it wasn't the  _ same _ . He loved being on site with his team whether it be scaling the Colosseum or running the length of the rooftops in Monteriggioni. 

It wasn’t just the prospect of possibly being sidelined as an assassin, but  _ every  _ other aspect of life too. He didn’t want to depend on anyone, he didn’t want people to treat him differently, and he didn’t want to have to relearn how to use his own stupid body! God fucking knows how long that will take and he didn’t exactly have the time to deal with it; he knows the others are rushing to get out of town and they can’t simply hang about with him until he can use his arm again, he wouldn’t let them.

A knock on the door rouses him from his thoughts and a young, male nurse stands at the door. He looks polite, if not timid, and he waves awkwardly before coming into the room. He’s smaller than Desmond by perhaps a head and has inky black hair and down-turned, amber eyes. His face is round and when he speaks, he does so with a french intonation.

“I’m Eric, I’m a student nurse here, and according to your file, you are Desmond Miles! Nice to meet you! I’m here to switch out your IV bag and take some blood, is that okay?” he beams. Desmond experiences a serious case of whiplash — the guy seems  _ too  _ happy to be taking his blood. Shaun would hate him and the thought makes him smirk. 

As Eric bustles about with the IV bag, Desmond asks him, “You’re from Europe, right?” When he receives an enthusiastic nod in response, he continues, “How you liking it here? My friend (Shaun would deny that title) is from Europe and he hates it, but he’s kinda negative anyway so ...”

“Man, really? I love it here, I mean it’s a lot different from both France and Hong Kong which is where I’m originally from, but it’s a good different. Lots to do and discover, I like discovering new things; it’s why I joined the medical field. Though you didn't ask that,” he mumbles before perking up again, “Where is your friend from?”

“London,” and this causes Eric to titter. He’s finished with the IV bag and is now fitting a cuff around Desmond’s upper arm.

“And he hates it  _ here _ ? London is, excuse my French, a shithole.” Desmond’s eyes go comically wide and he snorts so hard that he chokes. Eric looks worried and goes to grab a tap of water but Desmond waves him off and keeps laughing. God, he wishes Shaun was here to hear that.

If Desmond had to describe the guy currently taking vials of his blood with one word, he’d choose endearing. 

“Oh! I just remembered, Dr Arteaga told me to inform you that Mr Ramsey will be visiting shortly to speak with you.”

“Mr Ramsey? Uh … surgeon?” Desmond questions.

“Yup, he’s super nice I think you’ll like him. Anyway,” he picks up his equipment and waves on the way out the door, “I’ll see you around.”

* * *

True to Eric’s word, Mr Ramsey  _ does  _ show up, and true to Dr Arteaga’s word, he  _ is  _ easy on the eyes.

The man is tall, standing at the height of the door frame, and his shoulders are broad. His hair is sandy blonde and neatly trimmed stubble coats his jaw. He wears thin framed square glasses and a knitted half zip over a crisp white shirt. Desmond thinks if he was a girl he would swoon. He might swoon regardless.

“Mr Miles, I’m Elliot Ramsey and I’ll be your acting surgeon. I’m here to do some assessments with you and afterwards, I’ll be talking you through the surgery as well as the post surgery treatments. Can you tell me, any pain in your arm right now?”

“No, still can’t feel anything”

Elliot writes a note in Desmond’s file then moves towards his bedside. “I’m gonna put some pressure on different areas and I want you to tell me if you feel anything, even the slightest tingle.”

He pokes and prods his hands, wrist, forearm elbow and upper arm: Desmond feels nothing and feels enraged. He then begins to stretch the limb, pulling his arm straight above his head. Apart from the slight ache he feels in his shoulder, it feels dead below. Elliot scribbles another note in the file and the scratching noise makes Desmond’s eye twitch. Elliot closes his file and sits back in the chair, clasping his hands together. He stares Desmond in the eye as he says his next sentence.

“I think it would be most beneficial to do an above-the-elbow amputation. The nerves are completely fried below the elbow, clearly getting the brunt of the injury and whilst above the elbow isn’t as bad, it is still significant damage to warrant removing that area.” Using his finger, he slashes a line between his elbow and shoulder, “this would be the cut-off area, leaving you with some of the upper arm up to the shoulder. During the surgery, we can graft this area to cover up the damaged skin. Are you following me okay?”

Desmond hums but it’s clipped, short. The more he hears, the more he realises that this is a thing that’s happening. He’s still in denial, thinks he will be until he loses the damn thing. Speaking of …

“When is the surgery?”

Elliot opens his file again. “I can do it tomorrow at 1pm. If that’s too soon, I can move it back but truthfully I think it best to do it as soon as we can. The longer we leave it, the more we increase risk of infection and we’ll want to start your aftercare program as soon as we can. What do you think?”

_ Tomorrow? Jesus. _ “I think, I think that’s fine, yeah.”

“Great! Up for talking about post surgery plans?” Desmond wants to say  _ no, not really.  _ He’s already tired and just wants to close his eyes and zone out for a while but he knows he can’t. He nods.

“Unfortunately, you will be bed bound for the first few days, receiving fluids through a drip and having to perform urinary and bowel functions with the aid of a catheter and a bedpan. Physiotherapy will begin four days post-op and if needs be, we can arrange for them to go home with you. If your plan is to obtain a prosthetic, we can pass along numbers of specialists for you to contact but generally it can be several months before you can be fitted with one. Anything else you wish to know?”

Desmond is overwhelmed, he’s so,  _ so  _ tired. He knows he should be asking questions and squeezing every last bit of information out of him but he just doesn’t want to know anymore right now. He needs time to process everything. 

“Could you come back later when I have visitors? Only if you aren’t busy, I mean — I’m a big boy I can tell them myself but — “ he trails off, unsure.

Elliot’s mouth twitches and he nods in understanding, “Of course. Telling those important to you can be hard and if it was me, I wouldn’t want to do it alone. I’ll be there.”

Desmond relaxes in the bed and releases a breath. He knows it will be hard but there’s already a weight lifted off of his shoulders. The last thing he’s aware of is a door clicking shut.

* * *

He dreams again and finds himself on animus island once more. Not much has changed: the gates are still broken and the sea is still uncharted territory. He looks around expecting to see Minerva but she isn’t there. He sits on a rock and waits but she doesn’t arrive. 

He hears disembodied voices and looks around but no one appears. They’re muffled at first but progressively become clearer until he can make out what they’re saying.

“— there’s too much blood, pass the suction quickly!” There's a hissing noise before, “no, no, no! It isn’t working — “

“His BP is dropping!”

Something licks at Desmond’s feet and he looks down; the surrounding water has made it on shore and is biting at the hem of his jeans. He pulls his legs up to his chest.

“ … Sir, he’s entering hypovolemic shock.”

“... Heart rate is falling — 60bpm, 45 bpm, we’re down to 20bpm!”

Desmond is now standing waist deep in water. He wades to find higher ground but he can’t move, he’s frozen to the spot. The sky is turning a darker shade of grey, almost black and it looks as though a storm is about to wreak havoc. There are too many voices overlapping each other, getting louder and louder. Desmond plugs his ears with his fingers.

“... multiple organs are beginning to fail — kidneys are gone, liver … !”

“There isn’t anything we can do.”

“Sir?”

“Let him die.!”

The water has reached Desmond’s chin. He floats, not sinking but not swimming. He wails, “No, no, no. Please!”

The continuous beeping becomes constant. Desmond’s shout is cut off as he’s pulled below.

Distantly he can hear someone shouting and a fast beeping and he thinks  _ fuck, that was real? Am I fucking dead?  _ Someone is holding his shoulders and he’s pushed onto his side. They call his name. He can’t open his eyes. Something rubber is placed over his mouth —  _ no, I’m going to suffocate! _

Desmond opens his eyes and is face to face with Eric who is kneeling on the floor at his bedside. His eyes are heavy and he wants to shut them again but Eric keeps calling his name and waving a hand in front of them. He so badly wants to swat him away like he's an annoying fly.

He lies there for a moment just staring at him and then he's rolled over onto his back again. There are two other people staring at him: Emma, and a woman he doesn't know. There's a vibration under him and the bed begins to elevate him upright. An oxygen mask sits over his mouth and he brings his hand up to touch it. His forehead crinkles in confusion.

"Can you hear me?" Emma says. He nods. "You’re okay! We thought it might have been a seizure but luckily it wasn't. How are you feeling?" She removes the oxygen mask slowly and the other woman sets a cup of juice on the bedside table. Eric has left.

He feels like shit, to put it simply. He can feel the sweat forming on his forehead and back of his neck and yet his entire body feels cold from the inside out. There are black spots shooting across his eyes and he feels disorientated. For a second he thought it had been real … he pinches himself to make sure. Okay, so this is reality.

"We sent Eric to get you a slice of toast and some scrambled eggs from the cafeteria. You look peaky, do you need to be sick?" 

His hand trembles as he reaches for his water and he clenches his fist to stop it: it doesn't. He stammers out, "I'll be fine, I think." Both women look unsure but they say nothing. The one he doesn't recognise steps outside.

"You have visitors. They've been waiting for 15 minutes, witnessed the whole commotion. Your father was pretty angry we didn't let him in. Do you want to see them? We can tell them to come back later. You've had a bit of a tough morning and we don't want to overwork you." Those big blue eyes are glossy, expressing both fear and sympathy. He feels awful that he had obviously given her a fright.

"Keep them outside until I eat? I don't wanna, y'know, be sick and then embarrass myself. I'm already embarrassed enough in that department," he mutters, remembering his incident with Dr Arteaga.

Emma's face changes expression in seconds, contorting from worry to amusement. "If it makes you feel better, I can tell you the story about how I was sick on my crushes lap!" Desmond raises an eyebrow at her and laughs which turns into a cough. He takes another sip of water and gestures for her to go ahead.

By the time she's finished, Eric has arrived back with his breakfast. It's a small portion but it's better than nothing and he gives him a thumbs up in thanks. He looks more than pleased with the praise and sits down in the chair beside Emma. She recounts her story to him which results in him looking absolutely horrified, eyes blown wide. Whilst he eats his food, he tells them his own stories from his bar-tending days of having to look after drunk girls and guys alike. The two nurses are doubled over and clutching their sides. The laughter dies off into quiet giggles and Desmond feels miles better after a meal and their conversation.

He wants to beg them to not leave; he doesn't want to face reality and have to tell his own friends about his surgery. But they have other patients to attend to and they leave with a heartfelt  _ good luck! _ before sending in his visitors.

William storms in first and his presence immediately sucks the tranquil atmosphere that was created out. His eyes are narrowed and raking over the length of Desmond’s body before flicking back up to his face and he finally releases a sigh of relief and falls into the chair, clutching Desmond’s hand. The atmosphere is at ease again.

Lucy and Rebecca bend down to give him a hug as best they can and press their cheeks to his. “Damn Lucy, you did a great job. He’s as smooth as a little baby's bottom” Rebecca taps his cheek and both of them take a seat beside William. Shaun’s left standing behind them awkwardly.

Desmond lifts one arm up and beams at him, “Does Shaun want a hug too?”

“Absolutely not,” Shaun deadpans, his arms held in front of him and palms facing forward.

“He’s injured and sad Shaun! Give him a little hug,” Rebecca chitters. Desmond makes a show of pouting and fluttering his eyelashes. Shaun groans in disgust and then bends down gingerly. Desmond flings his arm around his neck and pulls him down closer, leading Shaun to land on him with a disgruntled “oof!”

"I didn't realise you missed me so much!" Desmond shouts over Shaun's muffled protest of " _ get off me you oaf!" _ Lucy and Rebecca are full on cackling now so Desmond takes pity on the man and let's him up, keeping his hand clasped around his forearm. If a soft golden light emits from under Desmond's gown sleeve, no one notices. 

Shaun is flushed red from the tips of his ears right down to his neck. He pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and picks at an imaginary piece of fluff on his sweater. Desmond thinks the sight is downright adorable.

"Nice to see you're still in there," William raps on Desmond's temple with his knuckles. "You gave us quite the scare out there; those nurses running in and we could hear the monitor going off. Glad to see you're okay." William keeps his hand close to Desmond's but not touching.

"Yeah, well …" Desmond says dismissively, "How are you guys holding up?" He changes the subject. "You made any progress on anything we talked about yesterday? he directs the question at William.

"Nothing," he sighs dejectedly, "Shaun and Rebecca turned up nothing on this possible 'Son' person after hours of combing through databases, both Assassin and Templar. Likewise, there's no mention of Juno but we didn't exactly expect her to use her real name - she's probably operating under an alias and she's likely to cover her tracks. It's gonna take a while," he frowns.

"I really expected us to uncover it faster, you know, without you there to bother us all Desmond," Shaun bites. His cheeks are still pink and Desmond gets the urge to squeeze them. Instead, he sticks his tongue out at him.

"When are you getting out, Des? We can plan around it and make sure we're on the road next day," Lucy questions and she's already pulled up the calendar app on the iPad.

Desmond swallows thickly and averts his eyes, "I think you should leave without me."

The room is silent. 

"Funny, Desmond." Rebecca chuckles but there's a nervous edge to it.

"I'm not kidding. They said I'm gonna be here for possibly two weeks and I can't make you guys wait on me. Like you said, Abstergo will be sniffing around and I don't want them to find you." he stresses.

"And what about you? We can't have them find you! You're one of us," she stresses.

"I'll catch up. I just … can't leave right now." 

Rebecca's eyes bore into him and she looks somber all of a sudden. "What aren't you telling us?" her voice is quiet and pleading. Desmond chews on his lip.

As if on cue, there's a knock at the door and Mr Ramsey walks in. He introduces himself to each of the four, chatting extensively with William before moving to stand by Desmond's beside.

"It's delightful to see that you have such a strong network of support. It will certainly come in handy these coming months." He looks pleased but the others only grow more confused.

Desmond begins slowly, "I have to tell you all something and it's going to be really difficult but I need you to listen and not try to talk over me." Four nods. "Tomorrow I'm going to have surgery, carried out by Ramsey here … and that surgery will involve the amputation of my right arm." 

Silence. He doesn't dare look at their faces, just hurries on quickly before he loses his nerve. "The nerves in my arm and hand are completely obliterated, I can't feel a thing. I won't be able to use it again unless I get it severed. I have reluctantly come to accept this, I mean, I have to, it's the only way." 

"And I know rehabilitation back into society will be hard," Desmond hopes they realise that he's talking about the Order when he says this, "but I will do whatever it takes. I won't allow myself to become a burden. I only ask that you guys support me and don't treat me like I'm damaged goods." He clenches his jaw to stop his mouth from quivering.

When Mr Ramsey speaks up it's with a modulated tone, "Desmond was made aware of this decision yesterday evening. Know that this decision was not made lightly. If you wish, I can run by you the during-surgery and post-surgery plans. I also have a booklet of information that I can fetch for you now." 

"That would be great," William croaks. Mr Ramsey leaves the room.

The room is deadly silent. The quiet ticking of the clock seems to boom now. If you were to strain, you could surely hear the muffled conversations outside clear as day.

Desmond caves first. "What are you thinking?" He doesn't really want to know. 

There's no response and then he hears the scraping of a chair being pushed back and realises  _ oh, they're leaving me. _ But they don't. Instead, there is a pair of arms being wrapped around his neck and he's being hugged. Whoever it is smells flowery and he knows then that it's Lucy. She sniffles into his ear and he grips her back with his strong hand. There's a kiss pressed into his greasy hair and the person stays there, burying their nose into it further. He would recognise Rebecca anywhere, the smell of oil always a constant around her.

Lucy pulls back and his hand falls onto his knee, only to be gripped by someone with calloused and rough hands: his dad. Desmond has never known his father to be affectionate; he never showed his mother any real attention other than the odd kiss on the temple and he certainly never showed any to Desmond who got only a slap on the back or the occasional high five. He supposes that the years have softened him, what with the death of his wife and then losing a son to the big bad world of New York. Desmond finds that he doesn't mind it. Sure, it's slightly stunted but it fills something inside of him that he wasn't aware was empty.

And Shaun, being Shaun, hovers at the end of the bed. He reaches his hand out to place it on Desmond's knee before aborting and moving it to his thigh, only to abort again and then clench and unclench his fits. He eventually stuffs them into his pockets and stares at his shoe, unbeknownst to Desmond watching him the entire time. Desmond finds the sight endearing.

William begins to speak but there's no sound. He clears his throat and tries again, "We will be here for you no matter what." That's all he needed to hear.

He grips his father's hand, nails digging almost painfully into his skin, and sucks in a shaky breath before finally allowing himself to relax among his friends and weep silently.

Rebecca blubbers into his scalp, "We are going to be with you every step of the way for as long as you want us."

"Whatever you need, we’ll be there to help," Lucy adds on.

"Yes, yes, well at least you'll perhaps have the chance to get a robotic hand like Luke Skywalker." Everyone in the room stares to glare at him and Rebecca whispers " _ Shaun what the fuck, you can't just say that!" _ Shaun at least has the courtesy to look abashed at his telling off but the poor attempt at humour makes Desmond snort (although, it sounds slightly gross because his nose is wet from crying). 

They don't notice Mr Ramsey dropping in the pamphlets, too caught up among themselves. The corners of his lips twitch upwards and he closes the door with a soft click.

* * *

At 2pm, the four are told to leave so that Desmond can rest. Their talk together has left him feeling much more at ease. He almost feels ready to take on this new trial in life.  _ Almost _ .

The rest of his day is as busy as it can possibly get whilst stuck in a hospital bed.

Emma arrives to bring him on his daily walk. He feels stronger today and no longer has to rely on Emma for support but his arm still has to be placed in a sling. He feels stupid shuffling around the place in his gown and slippers but Emma reassures him that nobody cares as they’re all in the same boat. They do more than just laps around the ward and take an alternative route, passing through the cafeteria, the nursery and then finally the surgical ward. Mr Ramsey gives him a wave as he passes by before returning his attention to another patient in a bed. Emma gestures at the general vicinity of the area.

“You’ll be brought here at some point tonight as preparation for surgery the next day. It kinda sucks that you won’t be in a private room but it’ll only be for a few hours and afterwards you’ll be moved back into a private room for recovery. I probably won’t see you when you’re here, this isn’t my ward, but I’ll make sure to come see you before surgery. I’ll bring Eric too.” she beams.

They walk back to his room and make a stop so that Desmond can use the bathroom. He’s no longer embarrassed about it; he’s going to have to shit in a bowl soon enough, may as well get used to it. Dr Arteaga is waiting when they arrive back to change his bandages.

Emma ducks out of the room to give them privacy. Dr Arteaga goes through the motions: undressing, adding ointment, adding a plastic wrap and then redressing. Desmond can see the arm in his peripheral — nothing much has changed. There are more pink fleshy bits than there was last time but all in all the skin is still charred. Desmond feels queasy and turns away completely.

Dr Arteaga stays with him for a while after she's finished. She asks about those who visit him and he tells her about each of them, about their differing personalities and mannerisms. He asks her about the people in her own life and learns that she has a wife and two children. Her face lights up when she speaks about them and Desmond feels a little melancholy. He doesn’t think a family is in the cards for him.

There’s a knock on the door and this time it’s Eric. Dr Arteaga looks sympathetic, knowing how draining the constant visits by medical staff for this or that can be. It’s like a rotating door.

“Luckily for you, I am not here to poke at you. I have your results from the blood tests to show you.” Eric says, cheery as ever.

“Everything is normal, everything is great. There is just one thing however: your white blood cells are  _ astronomically  _ high!” he exclaims. There’s a childlike wonder in those eyes.

Desmond knew what white blood cells were of course, being home schooled provided some knowledge. He just doesn’t know what their abundance means for him.

As though reading his mind, Eric hastily continues on. “Usually when fighting off an infection there is an increase in white blood cells but I’ve never seen such a steep increase. It isn’t harmful by any means, just peculiar. Some of the guys down in the labs are eager to study it, see how it fluctuates as we continue to take more blood,” he grins.

“I have to get going, you want anything before I head?” he asks. Desmond shakes his head. “Alright well, I don’t think anyone is coming to bother you for a while so,” he winks, “get some rest,” and then he flourishes out of the door.

Desmond is more tired now than he was before Eric had arrived; the man just has too much energy. He’s a little skeptical about going for a nap seeing as how his previous rest ended up with him waking to find three panicked nurses around him, but his body doesn’t give him a choice and he sinks back into the pillows.

He’s out for two hours, completely dead to the world. Emma brings him up a tray of salmon and rice for his dinner at 5:30 and he wolfs it down. Shortly after, two hospital porters come to move him into the surgical ward. He’s wheeled through hallways upon hallways and the breeze blows straight through his gown. The ward is loud: snoring, ventilators, and multiple machines. 

It’s going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today my friends, I bring you trash. next week? who knows. (i do)


	4. 25th December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> desmond goes through surgery. william miles is a shit parent. shaun, rebecca, and lucy are a* friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: not a medical professional, whatever information i write in this chapter is based solely off of internet articles/hospital websites etc. additionally, i am not an amputee so the feelings/info mentioned have also come from thorough research such as videos of people's personal experiences and websites such as the amputee coalition. ive done the best i can to portray things accurately but if anyone has any qualms please tell me! ill likely place this disclaimer at the start of each coming chapter as needed.
> 
> tw: medical imagery, character injury, william miles is a lil insensitive.
> 
> this chapter is a lil longer (over 6000 words) so go me. most chapters will be an average of 4500 words but if its more than that ill be sure to say. also, angst is not my forte but i try my best

It’s Christmas morning.

It’s also the day of his surgery. 

Desmond feels sick to his stomach with nerves and spends most of his morning in a haze. Medical staff fuss around him and ask him questions upon questions; he doesn’t remember the half of them, nor does he remember even answering.

He observes the people around him.

There's a young girl in the bed across from him, a teenager by the looks of it, and her bedside is littered with cards, flowers and stuffed animals. She laughs on the phone with her friends. The man in the bed beside him is old, breathing with the help of a ventilator and beside him sits who he assumes is his wife, stroking his hand. Then there's the middle aged woman who is surrounded by four more women. They gossip and titter and gasp. 

Desmond has never felt so alone.

Mr Ramsey arrives in and pulls the curtain across to give them some privacy. Desmond doesn’t think it matters much; he can hear every conversation that occurs in this room.

“Big day today, how are you feeling?” he asks.

“Jittery,” Desmond responds. He’s been chewing on the inside of his cheek all morning and wouldn’t be surprised if the area is broken and bleeding.

“Understandable,” Ramsey nods. “You’ll be in good hands, our surgical team is great.”

Desmond quirks an eyebrow, “You’re  _ on  _ the surgical team, you have to say that.”

“True” he grins. Desmond scoffs.

“I wanted to give you just a few last bits of information before you head in. You’ll be under general anesthetic, won’t feel a thing, and eventually it’ll wear off. The area will swell but that’s totally normal and we’ll give you a compression garment. Now the skin graft will appear quite purple at first but again that’s totally normal. The area will be covered with a sterile dressing to be left on for five days so it can connect with the surrounding blood supply. Any questions?”

“How long is the whole thing going to take?”

“I’d estimate around four hours. It’s a long and grueling process but you’ll be much better off once it’s done.”

“Yeah, merry Christmas to me,” Desmond sighs.

The receptionist peeks her head around the corner of the curtain, “Sorry for interrupting. Mr Miles? You have visitors but I can tell them to wait.” he looks to Mr Ramsey.

“Nonsense, send them on in. I’m finished here anyway.” he pulls back the curtain and Rebecca and Lucy are standing on the other side looking positively elated. They take in Ramsey, looking him up and down, and then hastily move towards Desmond. 

They pull him in for a tight hug and Ramsey gives him a wave behind their backs which he returns.

“Happy Christmas!” they shout in unison and then take a seat beside him.

“Happy Christmas,” he repeats but there's a weariness behind it.

“We have a present for you but we aren’t giving it to you until the guys come up, they’ll be here soon.” Rebecca reassures.

“While we wait, let's talk about Mr Surgeon back there. I didn’t wanna say anything yesterday, it wasn’t exactly appropriate at the time,” Lucy trails off, “but he's cute!” she whispers. Desmond hums in agreement.

Rebecca guffaws and her eyes are filled with mirth, “You guys don’t think he looks like Shaun? Y’know, if Shaun was cool.”

“For the record, I  _ am  _ cool Becs,” Shaun says and saunters in with William following behind, “anyway, who do I look like?” he sips on the lid of his coffee cup.

“The surgeon from yesterday. Lucy and Des think he’s cute,” Rebecca replies smugly.

Shaun makes a face of disgust but there's a dusting of pink across his cheeks. He hides behind his coffee and says nothing. 

Desmond is conversing quietly with William when Rebecca clasps her hands together and brings out a neatly wrapped box complete with a bow. She shoves it into Desmond’s chest.

“Open, open, open!” she bounces on her seat.

He pulls at the wrapping paper slowly, digging his fingernails into it and ripping. He struggles with the sellotaped bits and grinds his teeth in frustration. Lucy clenches her fist, aching to reach out and help but ultimately keeps her hands in her lap. He gets it eventually and hands the paper over to William who drops it in the bin. He’s holding a sleek black box with the ‘Samsung’ logo written across it.

He gapes at his friends and then wrestles with the box to get it open. Inside is a black smartphone. The screen lights up and the lock screen is a picture of the five of them: Desmond is in the middle and flanked on either side by Rebecca and Lucy who are themselves flanked by Shaun and William. Rebecca is doing bunny ears behind both Desmond and Shaun (who is pouting and has his arms crossed) and Lucy has her arms around Desmond and William’s waists. It was taken in the temple during a break session.

“We’ve each texted your number so our contacts should all be in there,” Lucy explains.

On cue, there are four pings from the phone. He makes a note to check them later.

Desmond makes grabby hands and pulls the two girls into a hug. He nods at his father then gives Shaun a soft smile. Surprisingly Shaun returns it (albeit awkwardly) and then begins to shift his weight from one foot to the other.

“You guys are the best. Thanks for being here today.”

“Of course. What's on your mind?” William asks. 

“I just want to get it over with. I wanna start my recovery and get back to my life, you know? I’m tired of waiting, it's making me antsy,” he fidgets. There’s two hours to go.

“Well if it helps at all, we’re gonna take your mind off of it as much as we can.” Lucy comforts. He’s glad to have these people in his life.

Desmond glances at Shaun and notices that the bulky line on his elbow is no longer there. He gestures towards it, “You heal already?”

“Funny story that, uh, it’s completely gone.” Shaun deadpans.

“Gone? “

“Did I stutter, Desmond?” he sounds exasperated and it makes Desmond miss their daily bickering. “Yes, the burn is completely gone. I’ve no idea how but after we left the hospital yesterday I went to change the bandages and it’s gone. No trace of it ever being there.” He pulls up the sleeve of his navy sweater and sure enough, the area where the bandage had sat is completely flawless. No scar, cut, or bruise in sight.

“He freaked  _ out _ , God it was hilarious Desmond I wish you had seen it. _ Oh, Rebecca my wound is gone, what does this mean? Was it magic? Should we call the hospital?”  _ she mimics him, putting on a terrible British accent and flailing her hands around. Shaun elbows her in the ribs.

“I wish mine would do that,” he chuckles bitterly. There’s a slightly awkward silence and he cringes at himself before swiftly moving on. “Uh, so wait, are you just going to forget about it? I mean, wounds don’t just go missing.”

Shaun shrugs, “What else can I do? A medical professional can’t do anything about something that isn’t there.”

Desmond furrows his eyebrows but William presses on.

“We have good news — we’ve found a city we can move to once you're discharged: Cornwall. It’s a two hour drive from here and a one hour drive from Montreal which is where we want to head if we’re looking to find Juno. We can lay low there until we find a trace of her and it’ll keep us away from Abstergo’s clutches. There’s also a hospital there if you need it,” he explains.

“Bad news is, we might have to get real jobs,” Rebecca makes a show of putting her finger in her mouth and pretending to gag.

“Oh, boo hoo imagine having to work a day in your life. Honestly Becs,” Shaun rolls his eyes at her.

“Alright, sounds good. I still think you guys should head on without me, especially if I’m going to be here for up to two weeks,” Desmond reasons. The group shares a look and then turns back to him. William speaks up again.

“About that, we received word late last night that Abstergo have sent a team out to the temple — it should be arriving here today if it hasn’t already. We by no means want to abandon you when you need us most but it's become vital that we move soon. We think it best that two of us head on to Cornwall and two of us stay with you, minimising our presence here as much as we can. What do you think?” 

Desmond nods so vigorously that his neck cracks, “By all means go ahead, when are you thinking of heading out?”

“Not sure but we're hoping it'll be soon. The sooner the better."

“Damn, you must all really want rid of me,” Desmond jokes.

“Just Rebecca and I, Shaun and Lucy are staying."

“I do, infact, want to get rid of you too. I just happened to get the short end of the stick,” Shaun grumbles and Desmond blows him a raspberry.

It dawns on Desmond that he’s going to have to spend the guts of two weeks with Shaun in close quarters. Which he’s been doing for the past four months sure, but alongside Lucy and Rebecca which meant he never  _ had  _ to talk to him. Or, rather, which meant Shaun never had to talk to him. Shaun avoided Desmond like he had a bad cold, always stumbling out an excuse ( _ “I’m busy, Desmond. Some of us do have real jobs to do” _ ) and when they did happen to fall into conversation, Shaun was snippy ( _ “Go and bother someone else” _ ).

Desmond decided in those early weeks to make it a challenge: how long could he keep a conversation going with Shaun before he inevitably pissed him off. His record is 5 minutes and 38 seconds — the key was to talk about history, no matter how stupid the question. In fact, the stupider the better: Shaun enjoyed the fact that he was intellectually superior to Desmond and took any chance he could get to prove that. Plus, Desmond believed that Shaun enthusing about his interests, speaking animatedly and waving his hands around with such mirth, was one of the most attractive sights he had ever seen.

Eventually, Shaun became more docile the more they talked. He didn’t immediately cower away like a cornered animal when Desmond approached him nor did he continuously refer to Desmond using crude nicknames. He let Desmond ask him questions freely and once or twice allowed him little snippets into his personal life; he has two younger sisters back in London that he only sees only twice a year and feels guilty that he hasn’t been there to watch them grow up, and he was also bullied throughout his school years. Shaun didn’t outright admit the latter but Desmond recognised the implications and it made his heart ache slightly for him.

So now that he was about to be (essentially) alone with him for the duration part of his days — Lucy, being a field agent, would be in the field following any leads she could find in the area — he felt a giddy nervousness. 

The curtain swishing pulls him out of his thoughts and he looks up to see Emma and Eric standing at the foot of his bed with a huge balloon with a smiley face plastered on the front.

“Jesus Christ,” Desmond laughs and he gives the two nurses a fist bump — which became a handshake in Eric’s case as he slaps the backs of his hands and then wiggles his fingers and pulls them back towards his own body. Desmond introduces them to his own group and a small chatter starts up between them all. 

Desmond feels content and time slips away from him.

The curtain swishes again. It's Mr Ramsey along with two porters. The group falls silent at his arrival and he looks to Desmond.

"You ready?"

* * *

When Desmond next comes to, he feels disorientated. The roof tiles seem to move across the ceiling and there are black dots swimming across his vision. His lips and fingertips tingle and his throat is numb. Suddenly, there’s a tickling sensation at the back of it. He twists sideways and heaves over the side of the bed. A bucket is pushed under his chin and he internally thanks whoever it is holding it. He retches a while longer and eventually it stops. Spit drips off of his chin and there's snot coating his upper lip. He has no doubt in his mind that he looks the picture of eloquence right now.

"Mr Miles? Can you hear me?" a voice asks. It sounds as though it's coming from underwater, sort of thin and echoey. Desmond doesn't respond. He pulls himself back into the bed and tries to get his bearings. Slowly but surely, the room stops spinning and the noises around him gain clarity. Beeping, rustling, someone calling his name repeatedly.

"Desmond? Mr Miles, can you hear me?" they ask again. Desmond does respond this time.

"Yeah, I can hear you." His voice is quiet and raspy. He clears his throat but it only sends him into a coughing fit and he bends over to reach the bucket as a precaution but thankfully, he doesn't throw up.

"Do you know where you are right now?" 

"Uhh, hospital?" It comes out as a question rather than a sure answer. He's confused. Although everything around him has become clearer, his head still feels like static noise. The person frowns.

"You're in Lewis County General. You've just come out of surgery. Do you remember, Mr Miles?" 

It hits Desmond like a freight truck; his eyes shoot open and glances at his right arm. Only there isn't a right arm. There's nothing there. His brain scrambles to pick up the pieces whilst he just gapes at the area. A comforting hand rubs at his shoulder and he finally looks to see who it is. Mr Ramsey stands with a clipboard tucked under his arm and has a sympathetic look on his face, his eyes turned downwards and his mouth a thin line.

"I remember;" Desmond whispers.

"The surgery went well and there were no complications. The skin graft was also successful. We used the back of your thigh as the donor site, it should heal in about a week or two. Overall, it took just over four hours and you've been out for about another hour so —" Ramsey checks his watch, "— it is now 5:25 pm." 

"What does it look like?" Desmond asks but he'd really rather not know.

Mr Ramsey moves to the other side of the bed and pulls the sleeve of the gown up. There's a stump below his shoulder that has been wrapped in bandages as well as having a compression garment placed on it and a tube tucked inside of it. His shoulder has also been wrapped.

"There isn't much to look at right now, they have to remain bandaged completely for the first few days to prevent infection. This tube here will catch any drainage that may come from the wound. Should your dressings become soiled, that's when you may ask a member of staff to change them." 

He continues, "As for what is under the bandages, the residual limb is swollen and will be for a while but this is nothing to worry about. That’s what the compression garment is for, it’ll keep the swelling down. As for the shoulder, the skin is quite red and purple, think of it like bruising. The texture does look peculiar, almost like it could be stretchy, but once it begins to heal it will settle down and look relatively normal." 

Desmond nods but he himself is far away. There's a difference between knowing you have to be amputated and then  _ being _ amputated; Desmond knew this already but it's something you can't exactly be prepared for until it happens. His thoughts and emotions are all over the place, but he doesn't feel sad. Not really. Just, strange. Odd.

"Your group is waiting outside to see you. However, there's someone I'd like you to meet first. Her name is Isla Rutherford — she's a 19 year old amputee. She comes in every so often to volunteer for us and I thought you could speak to her, ask her a few questions. I think you'll find you have quite a lot in common."

Mr Ramsey leaves the room and comes back a few minutes later with a young girl. Her hair is pastel pink and her ivory face is slim and covered with freckles. She's wearing black jeans and a simple lilac t-shirt. He notices that she wears a prosthetic on her left arm, black in colour. She meets his gaze with a cheery smile.

"I'm Isla! Ramsey tells me that you're Desmond, it's nice to meet you!" she gestures her head in the direction of his arm. "How you feeling, huh? It's weird, right?

"That's one word for it. I feel nothing and everything at the same time," he answers honestly. Her bubbly nature puts him in mind of both Eric and Rebecca and he feels at ease in her presence.

"That's how I felt when I first came out of surgery too! It's like, there is so much to think about and feel that you actually feel too overwhelmed to think and feel  _ anything _ ." She hits the nail on the head and Desmond feels elated that she knows what he means.

"For me, that feeling stuck with me for a while. Sure I felt upset and angry at the world at times, you know,  _ why me? _ And then it morphed into determination,  _ I will overcome this _ . But I still feel overwhelmed at times. I've just learnt how to deal with it and not let it hinder me." she explains.

"How? How can you not let it get to you?" he asks, pleading, and Isla gazes at him with such sadness in her eyes he thinks she might cry.

"It will. It will get to you a lot during your recovery," she admits, "truthfully, I let the pain get to me first. To understand why I felt like this meant I could find solutions to those problems. I told my family and friends and they provided me with challenges to work towards, little things I could feel accomplished by doing which therefore took my mind off the bad aspects. There will always be that odd day where it makes you feel like shit, and you're allowed to feel like that, but I always pick myself up the next day. I dictate what I do with my life, not my disability." she affirms.

Now it's Desmond's turn to feel like he might cry. This girl is so young and yet she's wise beyond her years due to her experiences. He thinks someone that age shouldn't even have those experiences but she took a hold of hers and ran. It fills Desmond with determination and courage; if she and all the other people who have gone through this same struggle can do it, then so can he.

"What was the hardest thing you had to adjust to?" 

"Ugh, sports 100%," Isla groans but it's as though she's recalling a fond memory. "I play volleyball and do swimming which are both pretty hands on sports. Swimming was a little easier to become accustomed to — aquatic rehabilitation is actually promoted when it comes to amputation because the exercises can hurt a lot less so swimming came easy after that. As for volleyball, I couldn't play for around seven months, not until I got my prosthetic and learnt how to operate it.. It was hard not being able to but I can't exactly go out there one handed, so I focused all my energy on recovering to get back out there as soon as possible." 

Desmond worries at his lip at the prospect of being out of the field for possibly seven months or even longer. He'd likely have to learn how to free run again and the thought irked him — his skills had progressed naturally through this time spent in the animus but since none of his ancestors were missing an arm (though he made a mental note to ask Shaun about Malik Al-Sayf), it would be a lot more manual training which would take up time the Order didn't exactly have.

He nods towards her prosthesis, "Do you mind if I ask what it's like to use it?"

"Of course not, it’s what I’m here for! Predictably, it's hard at the beginning. No matter what prosthetic you get or what form of amputation you have, it's difficult. So don't give up so soon. Mine is myoelectric: it uses muscle signals to move and the motions are a lot more fluid because they're built for functionality as opposed to cosmetics." Isla waggles the fingers and then picks up a cup, her phone and a newspaper whilst using the arm. The movement looks natural, the fingers flexing and bending with practised dexterity. "Sometimes it's awkward and clunky but for me, it really helps in my day to day life because I'm so active and have college and a job and so on. I don't keep it on all the time though, it's beneficial to get used to the residual limb too."

Desmond is captivated by the woman and logs everything she says in his head. She explains a few more aspects of her disability to him — she shows him how to take the prosthetic on and off and tells him what her family and friends do to support her: they attend her therapy sessions and community support groups, as well as actively advocating for disability rights.

They hug goodbye and Desmond feels light, like he's ready to take on anything. She leaves him with many things to mull over and most of all, he feels eager to start rehabilitation.

* * *

Shortly after, Mr Ramsey sends William and Lucy in. Desmond is limited to two visitors at a time and they’re only permitted to stay for half an hour each to avoid overexerting him.

The three sit in silence for a bit, just breathing in each other's company. It’s not awkward like Desmond expected, they acknowledge the missing limb but he doesn’t see pity on their faces. Alternatively, they express relief.

“Ramsey said surgery went great. What do you think?” Lucy questions.

“Well, their aim was to amputate my arm and,” he nods towards the stump, “I don’t have an arm so yeah, I’d say it was successful all things considered,” Desmond quips with a smug grin.

“Ha ha, Des,” she drawls but she’s smiling, “I meant, what do you think now that it’s no longer there? You’ve had a lot of time to reflect on what it would be like and now that it’s happened, do you feel any differently?”

Desmond ponders on the question for a moment before answering. “I feel different but it isn’t a bad difference. Before it was like this big scary experience that would negatively impact my life and I was so  _ angry  _ — this isn’t what I chose for my life. Now …,” he pauses to think, “I feel good. I still have concerns and I know there’s going to be a fuck ton of obstacles for me to overcome but I’m staying positive,” he asserts.

William whistles and then throws a thumb over his shoulder, “that girl must be one hell of a motivational speaker.” 

“She was amazing,” he confirms.

“We’re glad you’re okay. We were a little worried about your state after surgery; it’s a big change in your life and we know it has the potential to fret away at your mental health. We’re glad it didn’t,” Lucy repeats and then adds after an afterthought, “and if it does? You know we’ll provide you with whatever resources you need to feel better.” she clutches Desmond’s hand and Desmond brings it up to his lips to press a kiss to her knuckles. He’s so fucking glad for his friends.

There’s something that Desmond has to ask his father but he’s hesitant. He chews the inside of his cheek and picks at the blanket on the bed. The two look at him in confusion at his sudden agitation and both William opens his mouths to speak but Desmond cuts him off.

“What’s gonna happen with my role in the Order? Am I even going to have one by the time I recover?” Despite his previous anxieties, he sets his jaw and stares his father down. He doesn’t want a vague answer, he wants the truth. Even if it isn’t what he wants to hear..

William pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. When he meets Desmond’s gaze, there’s a guilty look in his eyes.

“I don’t know, Desmond. I don’t know. At least not until you’re … fully functional.” Desmond winces at that. “And after that, we’ll see.”

“‘We’ll see’?” Desmond repeats, his tone icy.

“Desmond, you’re going to need physiotherapy, and if you get a prosthetic you’re going to need occupational therapy. Then you’ll need to actually train, relearn how to parkour and fight with that limb. And, we don’t know how a prosthetic would react to the animus. Who knows how long it will take to get you back on track?”

“You think I don’t know that!” Desmond seethes and slams his fist down on the bed. “Of course I know that, it’s all I’ve been able to think about. But I am willing to work and maintain my place on the team.” he growls.

“I don’t know that there’ll be a place on this team by then.” William confesses.

Lucy and Desmond gape at him and reply, “What?” in unison.

William stands and begins pacing, “You could be out of the field for up to a year. We don’t have that time to sit around and wait for you,” Desmond scoffs bitterly, “there’s a possibility we’ll have to transfer this team to another area, there are other missions to be completed, artifacts and lives to be discovered. We don't even know if your abilities will be as adequate with a prosthetic!”

"Bill!" Lucy scolds and she looks shocked at his words. Desmond forgets that the assassins aren't as aware of this side of him like Desmond is. This is the persona he grew up with: unforgiving, cruel, a slave driver. 

“I don’t have a choice. As Mentor, it is my job to direct teams where they are needed. If we locate Juno before that year is out, I will be redirecting this team. I can’t put everything on hold for you, as much as I would like too.” His voice has gradually gotten louder and his footsteps heavier. His chest is heaving.

Desmond laughs but there’s a dangerous edge to it. “Fine. Totally understand.” And really, he does understand. He knows he’s being irrational, knows that his father is making sense. It’s not that which bothers him; it’s his father's lack of confidence in him. Desmond isn’t broken goods, he’s just a little different on the outside. On the inside however, he’s the exact same: persevering, stubborn, and strong-willed. Desmond takes his father’s lack of faith in him as a challenge and he  _ will  _ prove him wrong.

William walks out the door without saying goodbye, Desmond doesn’t care. He returns his attention to Lucy who gives him a tight hug and whispers an apology in his ear. Desmond doesn’t know why she is the one apologising, it wasn’t her fault. She sends Shaun and Rebecca in and he prays they lighten the mood.

They do (of course). Rebecca carries the smiley face balloon from Emma and Eric in one hand, and a Darth Vader balloon in the other. Shaun follows up behind carrying a white plastic bag.

“The Darth Vader balloon was totally Shaun’s idea!”

“Well they didn’t have a Luke Skywalker one and then I remembered that Vader doesn’t have an arm either so it was the next best option.”

Rebecca ties the balloons to either side of his bed and Shaun plops the bag onto Desmond's groin and begins to fish things out of it.

“And a hello to you too guys,” Desmond laughs. Rebecca adds a  _ “Hey Des!” _ after a moment's thought and Shaun just grumbles and continues to empty the bag.

“Alright. We brought you essentials: deodorant because you absolutely reek Desmond, dry shampoo because your hair is disgusting, a toothbrush because your mouth no doubt smells…” Desmond tunes Shaun’s complaining out and focuses on Rebecca.

“Bill looked like an absolute hurricane when he came out of here, what happened?”

Desmond rolls his eyes. “He’s thinking of splitting me from the team and sending you guys elsewhere. If I can’t recover in time that is. There might not even be a place for me in the Order with the way he was talking about it, like I'm broken and no longer good enough,” he spits.

Rebecca looks furious and even Shaun stops his rummaging to listen in.

“Well, we aren’t going anywhere. I’ll pack you in my suitcase if I have to. We’re the dream team!” Rebecca and Desmond share a high five.

“I never liked Bill if I’m honest,” Shaun admits. Desmond can’t blame him. “He’s great as a Mentor but as a friend? As your father? I’m sorry but the way he treats people is dreadful sometimes.”

“Shaun,  _ you  _ are an asshole too,” Rebecca reminds him with a tap to the nose. He rubs at it and glares at her finger as though it just committed a great offense.

“Yeah but I never really mean it,” when both Desmond and Rebecca raise a dubious eyebrow, he holds his hands up in defense, “I never punched Desmond!” 

“He’s not wrong,” Desmond says. By now, his bed is covered in various items: the deodorant, dry shampoo, and toothpaste from earlier, two books and a heap of magazines, a pair of fluffy socks and slippers, and finally multiple bags of sweets and chocolates.

“You guys are Godsends,” Desmond says and rips into a packet of Malteasers. He’s not meant to be eating right now, receiving vitamins through his IV but what they don’t know won’t hurt him. Plus, it’s Christmas.

Shaun is the first to mention his limb (or lack thereof). “I’m thankful you don’t have that arm so you can desecrate it with another hideous tattoo,” he frowns at the offending piece of art on Desmond’s other arm.

“Good thing I still have my legs then.”

“Our only option is to cut them off too,” Shaun rubs his chin as though he’s thinking really hard about how to go about doing that.

“Shaun, shut up. Des, you look amazing. I know we didn’t see the before and we haven’t seen the after but it’s like I can feel the improvement! Ugh, I’m just so glad that you’re okay.” Rebecca rambles and sinks back in the chairs.

Desmond peers up at the Vader balloon and back to them. “You know, I’ve never seen Star Wars.”

Shaun splutters and Rebecca looks affronted. Desmond feels mildly scared.

“Shaun, make him watch them when you’re in the flat with him. I can’t believe it.”

“Well duh.”

“And you can get popcorn and maybe even dress up! Shaun I know you own robes,” Shaun’s eyes widen and he elbows Rebecca but she ignores him. Desmond knew Shaun was a bit of a geek; there were multiple Marvel themed mugs around their hideouts and he’s pretty sure he’s seen him wear a Doctor Who t-shirt, but robes? Desmond is dying to see him in them. “Aw, I’m so sad I won’t be there when this happens. I wish I could swap places with Lucy.” she juts her lower lip out.

“It’s a date then,” Desmond beams at Shaun. He says it as a joke but the idea of having a movie night with Shaun, sharing a bowl of sweets and sitting beside each other on the sofa, Desmond resting his arm on the back rest and maybe playing with the hair on the nape of Shaun’s neck … it’s his idea of heaven. Shaun pushes his fingers up the bridge of his nose and is repeatedly crossing and uncrossing his arms. The sight sparks curiosity in him and he wonders why the sentence made Shaun so flustered; there’s a glimmer of hope in his chest but he swallows it and makes sure to analyze his actions later. He spots Rebecca giving him a wink behind Shaun’s back.

Rebecca is the only one that Desmond has confided in about his minor crush on Shaun — “That’s not a minor crush oh my god, you’re totally in love with him,” she had squealed and he covered her mouth with his palm to shut her up — but she already knew. She had even asked him how long it took him to even realise himself; apparently he was pretty obvious about it. Desmond remembers being jealous of Rebecca at first because of how close she was with Shaun; he had walked in on her perched on Shaun’s lap while he showed her something on the laptop and Desmond could have sworn his stomach had dropped to his feet. Rebecca had rolled on the floor giggling when Desmond told her and looking back he feels like an absolute idiot for thinking they were ever a thing, but still.

Rebecca had encouraged him to go for it — her exact words were “replace that stick in his ass with something else” and Desmond had groaned in disgust but he wouldn’t lie and say he hadn’t thought about doing just that — but Desmond would much rather choke on his food than be rejected by Shaun and then have to see him everyday after. So he squashed his feelings in the hopes that they would go away. They didn’t, they only got worse.

Desmond focuses back in on the two in the room. Rebecca is patting Desmond’s hair and Shaun is handing her the dry shampoo.

“I thought Shaun was being mean when he said your hair was gross but God he was telling the truth. I know it isn’t your fault but jeez, you’d think this place would let you shower. Hygiene and all,” she grimaces and wipes her hands on her black combats.

His hair has grown out from its cropped look and is now a lot thicker, particularly at the front where he’s had to sweep it back to avoid it falling in his eyes. It’s curly, a fact not known to a lot of people because of how short he keeps it. The last time it was this length, if not longer, was back in his bar tending days where it sat like a curly mop on top of his head. He had shaved it shortly after his kidnap by Vidic and never bothered to grow it out again.

“You mind if I shampoo it?” she already has the bottle in hand; he doesn’t think he has much of a choice.

There’s a hissing as she sprays the stuff all over his hair and then she begins rubbing it in with her fingers. The sensation is amazing and he automatically closes his eyes in pleasure. She tickles and scratches his scalp and behind his ears and he thinks that if he were to groan right now it would be totally weird but also totally warranted. The bottle hisses again and she continues to mix it through his hair. He thinks he’s falling asleep.

“Becs he is enjoying this far too much, please stop. I’m uncomfortable.” Shaun protests and Desmond flips him off.

“Finished! Now you smell like cherries,” she sniffs the top of his head. He pats at his hair which feels softer and cleaner already.

Shaun stands to announce that their time is up and Rebecca pouts before lighting up and fishing in her pocket. She pulls a small piece of mistletoe out and holds it above Desmond’s head, then pecks him on the cheek. “Merry Christmas Des!”

Rebecca holds it over Shaun’s head and shoves him towards Desmond but he plants his feet firmly on the ground and then grabs the mistletoe and throws it away from her onto the floor. Her pout returns. The scene makes Desmond snort.

“Merry Christmas Miles but absolutely not.” Shaun says and pushes Rebecca out the door.

Desmond feels light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your comments make me go uwu in my heart


	5. 28th December - 1st January

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> desmond is sick and tired of the hospital. he begins physical therapy. william tries to make amends and once again, the trio are ceo of being good friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had a lot going on yesterday and couldnt find the time to post so sorry its a late but better late than never my dudes
> 
> the timeline is kinda funky on this one bc i didnt want to write each separate day so just be on the look out for when it mentions today/yesterday/specific dates etc. if you get confused: the first part takes place on the 28th and there is a recap of the 26th & 27th, and then its the 31st and 1st :)

The past two days had flown by in a blur and yet simultaneously dragged in. It was an exhilarating yet grueling week of new experiences.

The day after surgery was spent resting. Desmond was more exhausted that day than he was one hour out of surgery. He had texted the group chat (created and creatively named "ASS, SASS and SINS" by Rebecca) that as much as he wanted to see them, he didn't think he would be very good company and thus told them to stay home. Rebecca and Lucy sent sad faces back, William a thumbs up and Shaun didn't reply at all.

Therefore it was an extremely quiet few hours; the only visits he received were from Mr Ramsey in the morning to ensure his bandages were still clear of excretory liquids, and then various other nurses who checked his vitals, replaced his IV and ensured his arm was kept in an elevated position. Desmond alternated between sleeping, reading a book about technology taking over the planet, and watching crime shows on the box TV hanging on the wall of his room.

Similarly, the following day was just as dull with a few exceptions. Firstly, Desmond was now allowed to eat meals which meant he had a serving of porridge along with a cup of coffee.

Secondly, he had begun to feel sensations in his residual limb and shoulder and could now (with a lot of effort) twitch the limb. The sensation was like pins and needles and they subtly pulsed along the length of his upper arm. Desmond was overjoyed at the fact that he could now feel something after so many days of sheer numbness. But then the panic and belief that he could be dying set in and he buzzed for attention where he was then informed he wasn't dying and that it was completely normal, it just meant the blood was finally beginning to circulate the area again which was a sign that everything was recovering as it should be. He breathed a sigh of relief.

Lastly, a prosthetic supplier arrived in the late afternoon to take some preliminary measurements and a cast of his stump so that they could get working on a temporary prosthetic he could use during his upcoming physio sessions. They had also assessed him in terms of physicality and day-to-day activities to determine what style of prosthesis would suit him in the long term. Desmond never thought there were so many.

They had immediately disregarded the need for a cosmesis; Desmond didn't care whether or not the arm would be flesh coloured or just pure unsheathed metal, he was more concerned with functionality. Which brought them to body powered prosthetics and externally powered prosthetics. Desmond believed that having to use his other body parts to control just one would be a hindrance in the fast paced environment in which he worked so they scratched that. So they were left with externally powered prosthetics: myoelectric like Isla had mentioned.

However, Desmond's eyebrows had shot to his hairline when he heard the price tag; for a transhumeral prosthetic, it would be a hefty price of up to $60,000. And myoelectric prosthetics had to be maintained and replaced more than any other type which would mean additional costs. His hands feel clammy and there's dread pooling in his stomach; how is he going to afford this? Sure he has some money saved from his bar-tending past but not even close to enough. Likewise, he’s sure his father had never set up a savings account for him because he had run before they could even  _ discuss _ college.

Distress must be written plain as day on his face because the supplier begins to hurriedly write the websites and numbers of charities down on a piece of paper and explains that they can potentially help cover some of the costs. If he struggles thereafter, the payment can be split over weeks or months if he preferred. Then they suggest that perhaps they choose a less expensive prosthetic but Desmond flat out refuses. He needs to get his hands on a myoelectric prosthetic or risk being thrown from the Order.

Desmond is left in a foul mood after the supplier leaves. When Lucy and Rebecca visit later, he's short with them. He gives them one word responses, if he even responds at all, and focuses all his attention on playing with his hand. The girls know something's up but he snaps when they ask and they leave rather dejectedly. He’ll apologise later.

He pushes his dinner around on his plate instead of eating it, the guilt of biting at his friends and the distress at his predicament eating away at his stomach. He doesn't watch TV or read either. He just glares at the wall until he loses consciousness.

* * *

Desmond feels no better today. His fury has dissipated but in its place is misery. 

He knew that rehabilitation would be taxing but he was self-assured that he could get through it thanks to the support from the medical staff, Isla, and his own friends. But that was from a physical and mental standpoint. Financial obligations had never crossed his mind and because of that, he now had a dilemma; if he can't get the money, he'll have to choose an alternative prosthetic which would be unfit for needs and that could result in him possibly losing his place in the Order completely. He’ll have to go back to his old, boring life and he’ll likely have little to no contact with his friends due to potential security risks.

This is one of those times where he wishes that he had never joined the assassins; he would have nothing to lose by doing so. And now everything is at stake, all because of his stupid fucking missing limb. All because he had to be high and mighty and save the world.

Desmond pounds his fist into the mattress and digs his fingernails into the palm of his hands, leaving white crescents indented there. He’s in the middle of scowling at the blanket when the door knocks and a stocky man enters. He observes Desmond’s position and then hovers awkwardly at the door, not sure whether to leave or enter but Desmond beckons him in.

“Are you okay? You look a bit … peeved,” he says warily.

“Yeah, just some things on my mind. Uh, not to be rude but you are?” Desmond asks.

“Oh, right! I’m Mr Qureshi but you can just call me Samir — we’ll get to know each other pretty well over the next few months so no need for formalities. I’m going to be acting as your physiotherapist whilst you remain in the hospital and then as your occupational therapist once you’re sent home,” he explains.

Desmond quirks an eyebrow, “you work both?”

Samir nods, his dark low ponytail swishing with the movement. “It was a  _ lot  _ of labour but it paid off in the end. I work exclusively with more, how do you say … trauma centric cases. My patients are more than likely to need both services which I can then provide, plus it makes the relationship much stronger between us. I'm excited to get to know you Desmond, I find your case very interesting,” he says.

“When a medical professional says a case is interesting, that just means it’s completely bizarre,” Samir laughs at the statement but doesn’t deny it.

“You want to get started?” Desmond bobs his head.

“Elliot sent me your files: information about your injury, the amputation process, but the personal information on there is pretty outdated. You don’t even have an address written down. Private person?”

“I guess. Off-the-grid would be a better way to describe it,” Desmond replies and it isn’t exactly a lie.

“That’s fair. I am gonna need an address though for home visits.”

“Oh, uh, I don’t actually know it.” Samir looks confused. “Well, we just moved here and I was immediately put in hospital so I haven’t even seen the place yet,” Desmond lies.

“Damn, that’s an unfortunate introduction to the city. Can I ask you to find out for our next session tomorrow?” Desmond confirms.

“Good. Do you mind if I ask you some questions about your field of work, level of activity, if there’s any sports you play? I need to get a feel for your physicality so that I can ensure the best course of treatment for you.”

The brotherhood had provided each of their agents with a false background to be used in cases like these; their personal files were always devoid of important information and locations, anything that could pose as a security breach. Desmond recites it off as though it’s his own life.

“I work as a stuntman, do a bunch of tv and film roles,” Samir looks impressed and begins writing as Desmond speaks, “it involves a lot of parkour and I’m required to learn a lot of martial arts: boxing, karate, judo and the likes. I frequent the gym a lot too,” he finishes. Samir whistles and finishes scribbling.

“Looks like we have a lot of work to do if we want to get you back out there. Usually we have around five to seven sessions, each one at an hour or less each. We should be finished the first week of January which coincides with your estimated time of release.”

“Now, I’m going to get started on your injury. Can you tell me how it feels, that is if you feel anything at all, can you move it at all?”

“I started getting a prickly feeling in it yesterday, that was the first time. I could sorta move it,” he strains to repeat the twitching movement that he discovered possible yesterday, “but it takes a lot of focus. It isn’t automatic.”

Samir hums then peels off the outer garment and places his hands on Desmond’s stump. Desmond jerks, it’s the first time he’s been able to feel an outside force on it and it startles him. Samir apologises then squeezes softly along the short length. Each squeeze sends a faint yet sharp spike of pain through Desmond which makes him wince.

“You can feel something and that’s good, makes both our jobs easier. I want to try an exercise with you; can you raise your shoulders up to your ears as though shrugging for me? Then relax and repeat.”

Desmond shrugs — the movement of his right shoulder lags in comparison to the left but he manages it. They repeat the motion together for four sets of 15 and by the end of it, Desmond already feels as though he has greater control over his shoulder.

“What about raising the limb up beside your head?”

Desmond does what he suggests but he struggles; he makes it halfway, holding the limb at his chin before faltering and letting it drop. He tries again and makes it to his eyebrow before it begins to shake and he lets it fall again. He lets out an irritated sigh and rests his head against the pillow.

“Two tries and you gave up?”

Desmond blows air through his nose and gritting his teeth, places all his effort into lifting his limb. It takes three more tries and he finally he’s able to reach his head. He holds it there for a few seconds and then drops it again. He repeats the motion, this time alternating between swinging both limbs repeatedly.

“There we go, you’re doing great! Just two more to go. For this one I want you to hold your arms out at your sides and rotate them in a circular motion. Start small and gradually make them larger circles.”

He completes this exercise more easily than the last, this one requiring more shoulder movement than limb. His muscles are beginning to wear out but he pushes on.

“Last one, I’m sure you’ll be glad to get rid of me,” Samir smiles, showing his gleaming white teeth that contrast against his brown skin. Desmond is pretty sure he saw them sparkle.

“I take it you’re familiar with the standing half moon stretch? You can do it from the bed obviously, but if you could do three sets of 10 that would be a great finish.”

And so Desmond lifts his arms above his head and bends from side to side. He can feel the stretch under his armpit and his stump trembles with the effort it’s being kept upright. With each new set he becomes more uncomfortable, wanting nothing more than to relax the limb for a moment. He perseveres and once he’s finally finished the exercises, he feels pride and accomplishment swell in his gut for making it through the first session.

Samir gives him a thumbs up and shares words of encouragement, telling him that considering he could only twitch earlier, this is amazing progress and that fills Desmond with confidence for his future appointments.

“I’ll be back tomorrow at around 1pm. Before, I want you to go through those exercises like we did today. Whilst you were doing them I made a list of the sets and reps. If you can, time how long it takes but do  _ not  _ rush it. It needs to be done properly to get the full effect.”

“Sounds good. Thank you so much man, this was amazing,” Desmond cheers and clasps Samir’s hand in a handshake.

“And thank you for being so positive — it’s always hard for some people to adjust, they still think they don’t need the help y’know. I’m glad you’re adjusting well. Anyway, i’ll catch you tomorrow!” Samir waves on his way out and Desmond is left feeling elated, all worry soothed from his mind.

William visits late in the afternoon and his presence dampens the mood a bit, as always. Their conversation is awkward and stilted.

“I need to apologise, about what I said. It wasn't appropriate. I want you to know that I have every faith in your abilities. I was just … I don't know what I was. There was no excuse." He holds eye contact with Desmond throughout the apology, his hands clasped in his lap.

Desmond sets his jaw and tells him, "I'm not sure if I can forgive you, not right now. I'll move past it but that's it. You have to understand that what you said was completely shitty."

"I know, I know."

“Do you? Because I don’t think anyone has ever told you that you were no longer good enough." Desmond glares at him and William looks uncomfortable at the scrutiny.

“You’re right. And I’m sorry, really I am. I don’t know what else to say.”

Desmond stares at him a while longer, just until William begins to fidget and then William changes the subject.

"What've you been doing all week? I know I haven't been up to visit, apologies. Rebecca and Lucy said you didn't talk much on Thursday. You okay?"

"I started my physio today, it was great and the guy said I'd made amazing progress for this being my first session," he makes a point of telling this father how accomplished today was for him and feels smug when he sees him ring his hands in guilt.

"I got some bad news though," Desmond admits. William's eyes widen in alarm and he sits forward in his seat. "It's gonna be nearly $60,000 to get the prosthetic I need."

William slumps back and pinches his nose. "Jesus son, you scared me. Alright … I can make some calls, pull some favours maybe. I'll check our own funds, I know Tina left you an account and I might have some set aside for emergencies," he diverts attention to his phone, fingers gliding across the keyboard rapidly.

"Wait, mum left me something? How come you never told me?"

"I never exactly got the chance." It's a shit excuse but Desmond isn't in the mood to argue, at least he now has a starting point. "We'll get you the funds don't worry. Just let me handle it."

"Thank you," Desmond slumps in relief. "Any progress in your search for Juno? Or the whole message Minerva left me?"

"We have intel that Abstergo have sent a forensics team down to the temple, no sign of Juno. She’s either made herself hidden or she’s long gone. As for Minerva, we've decided to put that on hold. At least until you have another dream or vision or whatever. We're turning up nothing and Shaun's going mad, you know how he hates not knowing things." Desmond hums in agreement.

"Also, Rebecca and I are leaving for Cornwall on New Year's Day; we start work on the 2nd," Desmond gestures for him to elaborate, "Rebecca secured a place as a civil engineer and I start as Supervisor at a broadband company." 

"Huh, that's not so bad. Rebecca looking forward to it?"

"Shaun was winding her up about her getting a job in a clothes shop, having to wear a dress and talk all cutesy to teenagers. He just about dodged her fist." Desmond snorts at the mental image. "But yeah, she's just glad it's something familiar." 

They enjoy the rest of the evening watching the football game on TV, making comments back and forth about certain players and strategies, hollering or groaning when a certain team scores until staff notify them that visiting hours are over. William leaves but not before promising to get back to him about financial aid as soon as possible. Desmond rests easy.

* * *

But everyday after is a repetition — Desmond does his exercises in the morning after breakfast, completes his physio in the afternoon, receives visits from William and his friends as well as visits from various nurses, eats dinner whilst he reads and watches TV, and eventually falls asleep to its background noise.

It’s tedious and dull and Desmond feels like crawling up the walls with restlessness. He doesn’t know what day it is anymore, not that it matters as they’re all the  _ fucking  _ same.

Desmond slams his book down for the umpteenth time and groans; he’s running out of things to do. It’s New Year’s Eve for Christ’s sake, Desmond should be out downing drinks like there’s no tomorrow and waking up in the bed of a person he doesn’t even remember. 

He video calls Rebecca and she picks up on the third ring. She’s wearing a grey hoodie, the hood pulled over her head and her hair sticking out from under it at all angles. She’s clearly just woken up and she throws her middle finger up at him.

“Des, what the hell? It’s like, 9 in the morning what do you need?” she grunts.

“It's 1 O’clock Becca,” he laughs and she shoots up out of the bed. Another voice crackles in the background.

“Get your arse out of bed, you have so much shit to get through. You leave tomorrow! Or did that just slip your mind?” There’s a clatter as Rebecca throws something at Shaun. “Oh, very mature, throwing pillows. Honestly,” Shaun sighs.

“Take Desmond,” Rebecca says and her phone is thrust into his hands. Desmond is now looking at the underside of Shaun’s chin. Shaun spits a verse of inaudible noises and then holds the phone to his face.

“Desmond.”

“Shaun.”

They stare each other down. And then simultaneously ask:

“How’s my balloon doing?”

“How are you?”

“How’s your fucking balloon?”

“No, I - I meant how are you. Not the balloon,” Shaun stammers.

Desmond turns the camera so that it’s facing the slightly withering Vader balloon. The smiley face looks even worse for wear, its face crinkled and it hangs lower than the other balloon.

“The empire is falling,” Shaun sighs and Desmond rolls his eyes.

“Im fine though, thank you for asking. Hospital and all.”

“Technically, Vader is in hospital too.” Something else is thrown at Shaun’s head and this time he emits a quiet yelp. “Rebecca, your hoodie has a zip!”

“Quit being mean to Desmond!” she shouts. Desmond sticks his tongue out at him.

“I’m not being - honestly! It should be me who should ask you to stop being mean, you both gang up on me all the time!”

“Poor Shaun,” Rebecca whines and Desmond makes crying noises. Shaun swears and throws the phone back to Rebecca who is now dressed properly and is brushing her hair back.

“What are you doing today Des? Anything exciting in today’s schedule?”

“You know there isn’t. Rebecca, please break me out. If anyone can do it, it’s you,” he pleads.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I do believe that’s illegal,” Shaun quips. He’s sitting beside Rebecca and peering over her shoulder. “Plus, I don’t want to be stuck with me any longer than I have to.”

“I think you’ll find that you will love being stuck with me. I’m a hoot,” he winks and Shaun feigns disgust. Or it might be actual disgust.

"Hey listen, we gotta go. We have to do a supply run today for Cornwall and your dad's in a shitty mood, I'd rather not be on the receiving end of his wrath. I’ll be around tomorrow morning before we leave, see you then!" Rebecca blows him a kiss and ends the call just as Desmond's door opens.

"Mr Miles? I'm Amal. I do believe it is time for me to check and change the bandages on your shoulder, if you wouldn't mind?"

Desmond sits up in the bed and turns so that he sits with his back facing the short woman to allow her access to his shoulder. Her hands are freezing when she touches him and he flinches which causes her to apologise profusely.

Knowing what happened the last time he had seen what was under his bandages, Desmond steels his stomach. He can hear the bandages dropping into the bin and the air breezing across his skin. There's a sticky sound as the plastic layer is peeled off and then cold fingers prod at the skin.

“Huh, that’s peculiar.” Desmond seizes up at her words. “Oh no no! Sorry! Everything look’s good. No strange discolouration or marks. It’s healing up nicely! It’s just healing … very quickly.” Desmond peeks at the skin: it’s flesh coloured with lilac undertones and there's green bruising around where the graft meets his normal skin. He’s relieved that it doesn’t look as bad as he expected it to but then again she did just tell him it’s healing faster than expected.

“What’s it meant to look like?” Amal hums before answering.

“Well, it shouldn’t really be as flesh coloured as it is. It’s almost a match to your normal tone. At this point of the healing process it should still be bright red due to the blood being circulated there, purple too, mottled even. The bruising is very accelerated, it should be blue not green.” She swipes a finger over the area, “the texture is what you would normally expect at this stage: quite rough, dry. Though it’s quite smooth, it’s expected to be almost wrinkly. It’s strange but I don’t think it’s anything to necessarily be worried about.” However, she frowns as she says this which doesn’t instill much confidence in him.

Amal begins to lightly smooth ointment onto the area. “This is bacitracin. It’ll prevent bacterial infections. You won’t need to use it every time the bandages are changed, only for the first while or so and then you can change to moisturising creams to keep it soft.”

She places gauze over the top of the cream and then wraps it up again. “May I lift the bottom of your gown up? I need to check the donor site on your thigh..” Desmond had completely forgotten about that area, feeling no pain or pull in it. She folds the gown back and reveals a plaster in the center. She pulls it off easily and Desmond winces as it catches on some of the surrounding hairs. The area is a neat square, blotted red with old blood. Amal pats at it with a damp cloth and wipes away the blood so that the wound is now clean, then applies the bacitracin and follows up with a new plaster. She pulls the gown back down.

“Same here, the wound is healing quickly. Normally, I’d give the donor site another few days before it’s healed, the graft site up to two weeks. The way they’re going though I’d say it will be less than that. Still, the next time they’re scheduled to be changed is — “, she flips through the file in her hands, “— the 4th of January. I’ll see you then. Have a nice day.” Desmond gives her a smile as she leaves and then slumps back into his pillows.

A few hours later, the countdown begins. He watches the news coverage alone, can hear the hoots outside his room and fireworks being set off outside. His phone pings.

**RC** : HAPPY NEW YEAR TO MY FAVOURITE PEOPLE

SO HAPPY TO EXPERIENCE 2013 WITH YOU ALL

**SH** : Why are you texting this we are in the room with you

**LS** : Happy new year!! So sad we can’t be with you Des :(

**SH** : Oh i forgot about Desmond

Happy new year i suppose although i doubt it will be happy

**RC** : im ignoring that

**DM** : happy new year guys! i wish i was there with you 

**LS** : Us too. It isn’t the same without you

**SH** : We’ve never had a new year together before??

_ Shaun Hastings has been removed from the chat _

_ Shaun Hastings has been added to the chat _

**SH** : Mature as always Becca. Thank you Desmond for not being as childish 

_ Shaun Hastings has been removed from the chat _

_ Shaun Hastings has been added to the chat _

**SH** : Fuck you both.

**DM** : >:)

**LS** : What was your favourite moment of 2012?

**SH** : We’re doing this?

**RC** : ooo! i loved …

**SH** : Apparently we are

**RC** : getting back in touch with lucy :) 

**LS** : Aww Becs! That’s my favourite too <3

**SH** : I suppose I liked the part where I didn’t die at all 

**RC** : really? that was my least favourite bit

**LS** : Des? How about you?

Desmond thinks about it for a moment. For lack of a better phrase, this year was a shit show. He went from bar tending in the city to having a bag placed over his head and being hauled into the back of a van. He was thrown into a world he didn’t understand and forced to adapt with so little time. All so he could save the world, nearly die, and lose an arm.

But, he had also made lifelong friends and became an assassin. All those years of training at the farm had finally come into play. Becoming an assassin was always intended to be a huge part of who he was but he never thought it would come to fruition because of how his time at the farm had ended. Now, it was his life and he wouldn't change that for anything.

**DM** : i think i actually agree with shaun on this one

**RC** : well you’re allowed to say that. you did nearly die. shaun didnt

**SH** : You don’t know that

**RC** : im with you every day

**LS** : I think that's a good one Des :)

I’m going to head to bed. night everyone

**RC** : me too, night!

**SH** : Again. We’re in the room with each other.

_ Shaun Hastings is offline _

_ Rebecca Crane is offline _

_ Lucy Stillman is offline _

Like Rebecca promised, her and William visit early the next morning. Desmond is still groggy with sleep when they arrive and barely manages to stay awake throughout their short stay. Rebecca looks just as tired as he feels as she lazily munches on a plastic packaged bagel bought from the hospital’s own cafeteria.

“What’s first on your agenda?”

“Once we settle our stuff in the flat we’re going to scout the area. Get a feel of the place and the people who reside there. It’s a small enough time that there shouldn’t be anything dubious but it’s better to be safe than sorry.” William answers. “I think … I think we’re going to try and infiltrate Abstergo.”

Desmond’s eyebrows shoot up. “Jesus. How are you gonna manage that?” And when? How did you even come up with this plan?

William waves his hand to quiet him. “Truthfully, we don’t know yet. Nor do we know when. But if we want to find Juno, Abstergo is our best bet. The place is crawling with Templars.” Desmond hums in agreement.

William pushes himself off the chair and tucks his hands in his pockets. “We best get going. We’ll keep you updated on anything we find.”

Rebecca pulls Desmond into a hug and pecks him on the cheek. “I’ll ring every day, it’ll be like you’re there with me. I’m so mad that I won’t be there when you’re released, ugh, but I can’t wait until you catch up with us!” she rambles on. Desmond chuckles at her antics and grips her tight.

“I’ll see you both soon.”


	6. 5th January

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> desmond is free from the hospital and he and shaun spend some time together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting this a day early as im busy tomorrow and wont have time to update.  
> i hath provided you with the first of many to come shaundes moments, feeding the people is what i do best.
> 
> content warnings: medical imagery, body image, they talk abt their (sad) childhoods

The beginning of 2013 is a boring one for Desmond. His schedule remains the same: breakfast, exercise, lunch, physiotherapy, Shaun and Lucy visit, dinner, he rings Rebecca, sleep.

On the 4th, Amal comes in to change his bandages again. She’s stunned at the progress that the wounds have made since her previous visit; the lilac undertone has almost completely faded and the surrounding bruising is brown and yellow. Similarly, the donor site on his thigh has healed entirely, allowing him to keep the bandage off.  Doctors and nurses alike were baffled by the quick healing of his wounds but blood tests revealed only an excess in white blood cells like before. They sent his blood away for further testing in case his high count could be caused by an underlying issue but it had come back negative. Doctors frowned at the results but pressed the issue no further.

In preparation for his release tomorrow, the staples needed to be taken out of his residual limb and his cast needed to be removed. Desmond knew this would mean seeing his stump for the first time. The thought was jarring.

Mr Ramsey was the one to carry out the procedure which relieved some of Desmond’s anxiety. As Ramsey took a cut saw to the cast, he distracted him by recounting stories of other amputee patients he had treated, sharing how they’re doing now and what they’ve achieved since their surgery. Desmond knew it was a tactic to instill him with confidence but he couldn’t deny that it didn’t work.

The transition from pre surgery to post surgery was made easier by the cast; he knew of course the limb wasn’t there but it was knowing that and actually seeing it was very different. With the cast and bandages now removed, Desmond sat staring down at a fleshy stump. There was a long gash along the width of the limb that was sealed with staples as well as small plasters. The surrounding area was bruised and it wasn’t as swollen as Desmond expecting thanks to the compression garment. 

Somehow, this made the whole situation feel more real though Desmond  _ knew  _ it was real before. Had come to accept it and was looking towards the future. But now he felt as though this was a step back. Like he would have to get used to it all over again.

As though reading his thoughts, Ramsey placed a hand on his shoulder. “If you’re feeling a little unnerved just know that that's completely normal. I know that it can be distressing to see it for the first time." Desmond frowns but stays quiet as Ramsey begins to carefully take the staples out.

"Any pain? Now or in general."

"Stings a little right now. Generally, it's a throbbing pain but the morphine helps with it."

Ramsey blots any blood seeping from the staples and applies bacticterin around the area, then replaces the plasters.

"I believe the prosthetist is coming here at 2pm. I believe he has a gift for you." he says with a smile and then leaves.

The prosthetist arrives an hour later with Samir in tow. They pull a prosthesis out of the kit bag slung over their shoulder — the upper arm has a thick, black outer casing which connects to a ball, symbolising the elbow. This ‘elbow’ connects to a forearm which has a casing skinnier than the upper arm. The wrist is separate from this casing, a metal block with the ability to move fluidly which is connected to the hand which showcases movable fingers.

Desmond feels intimidated just looking at it.

“This is the temporary prosthesis we’re going to supply you with for your occupational therapy. It was a donated piece and we reworked the upper arm to fit your own measurements. Samir tells me you’re making good progress so I think it’s finally time to start learning how to use this,” they said and waved the hand of the prosthetic.

It was true — Desmond had complete control over his residual limb thanks to Samir’s extensive exercises. In fact, earlier this week Samir had brought in kettlebells to try with him. A brace was placed over his stump that was attached to a chain which was in turn hooked to the kettlebell. Desmond had struggled at first, this being the first time he had used a weight in an exercise. It took him a while to perfect the technique, having to use his back to really pull the shoulder up to elevate the weight, but with persistence he managed to hone the skill and was able to raise his limb above his head and hold it there despite the added weight.

So would using a prosthesis really be so difficult?

“Before we begin anything you’re going to have to learn to actually take the prosthetic on and off.”

Desmond holds the prosthesis in his hand and feels the weight of it. It’s heavier than he expected. The prosthetist produces a nylon bag and points to a hole in the upper arm casing. He threads the bag down through the casing until part of it peeks from the hole, then opens the bag at the top and slips it over Desmond's limb. Desmond pushes his limb in as far as it goes and stops when he meets resistance. The nylon bag is tugged from where it protrudes from the hole until it comes cleanly out and Desmond’s skin is now snug against the wall of the casing. The prosthetist presses a button on the forearm and Desmond can hear the arm whirr to life.

“That will have activated transmitters and the interface system which will read your electrolyte signals and allow you to move the arm. Now to take it off …”

They press the same button on the forearm to power the arm down and then placing two fingers inside the casing of the upper arm, break the suction which allows Desmond to slip his limb out.

“Your turn.”

Desmond practices donning and doffing the prosthesis multiple times until he can do it effortlessly. Now with the prosthetic on, he looks at himself in the mirror across from his bed. The way the skin of his shoulder stops and abruptly meets metal is so unnatural and it makes him frown. He traces the length of it with his other hand, feeling the heat of his skin converge into cold hardness. This is his new body; flesh and metal. He would have to get used to it whether he liked it or not.

“Desmond, can you try moving the arm? No matter to what extent.” Samir asks. He inwardly thanks Samir for the weight training because it means he can lift the arm. It’s a peculiar sensation; he can feel the weight of the arm sitting on his stump but he can’t truly feel it moving, it isn’t really his arm after all. However, he’s unable to move the elbow, wrist and fingers despite how hard he focuses. Samir sees the frustration on his face and stops him. “That’s okay, don’t strain more than you have to. Movement will come with time."

“We do need to check your posture and balance with the arm. It’s heavier than your actual arm and so it’s important that you don’t fall over and injure yourself further,” the prosthetist says. Desmond swings his legs off the bed and stands with his arms by his sides. He wobbles for a moment but changes his stance and is able to balance as though natural. Samir maneuvers Desmond’s prosthetic arm so that it lies sideways and it causes him to become slightly unstable so he alters his stance once again. The prosthetist speaks again, “no sudden movements, it might send you teetering over. Take it easy when you move with it for the first while, until you get used to its mass.”

“Before I leave I have a lot of information to run through with you regarding prosthetic use,” they hand Desmond a leaflet, “it’s all in here but I know it can be ingrained better when someone says it.” Desmond listens intently as they list off a number of rules: it should be worn for only 30 minutes at a time and slowly built up for longer uses, if there is any blistering or chaffing to immediately take it off, to keep it away from water, oil and fire, and lastly, the residual limb is likely to change shape as it swells and heals and so stump socks need to be worn to maintain a comfortable fit.

The prosthetist leaves Desmond their number for when he’s ready to book an appointment and then exits the room. Desmond takes the prosthetic off and hands it to Samir who sets it on one of the chairs.

“I hear you’re getting out tomorrow. I bet you’re glad.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. I’m sick of looking at these walls,” Desmond chuckles and Samir grins back at him.

“I know you’re going to be wanting a day to yourself so how about I call around on the 6th? Give you a day to settle back in at home. Then we can continue with your therapy.”

“Sounds great, thank you. You’ve been an amazing help.” Desmond shakes Samir’s hand.

* * *

Which brings Desmond to today. It’s 9 in the morning and he’s munching on a croissant when Shaun enters the room looking positively miffed. He’s carrying a kit bag which he throws unceremoniously onto the foot of the bed. Desmond stops chewing to look at him.

“What?”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full Desmond, it's very uncivilized,” Shaun snipes. Desmond snorts but nearly chokes on a crumb, leading Shaun to stick his tongue out in mock disgust. He gestures at the bag. “Clothes and shoes. I was going to let you wear the dress out but Lucy said that would be mean. What time are you being released? I’m not waiting all day for you. You can just walk back to the apartment.”

“I wish Lucy picked me up,” Desmond says with a pout. It's (somewhat) a lie.

“So do I but sadly she traveled back down to Turin. We don’t know much of what’s happening down at the Temple other than Abstergo are down there right now doing God knows. She’s staying down there for a few days with another member of the brotherhood to watch the area.”

That means it’s going to be just Shaun and Desmond. Together. Alone. For the foreseeable future. Nice.

“I think I can be discharged soon. Ramsey said he needs to go over a few more things and I’m all set.” Shaun turns his nose up at the mention of Ramsey’s name but otherwise says nothing. He notices the prosthetic sitting on one of the chairs and looks to Desmond for permission to poke at it which Desmond allows. He spins it around in his hand, looking inside the casing and fiddling with the parts.

“I bet Becs could make some real nice additions to this. Yeah, she could add like, knives for fingers.” Desmond laughs around his croissant at the idea of it but does make a note to ask her about possible modifications. “Have you used it yet?”

“I practiced with it yesterday. Not much progress made but it was only a short session. Samir, that's the therapist, is coming tomorrow to get me started on the real good stuff.” Shaun actually looks interested in what Desmond is saying as he recounts the workouts and information about the prosthetic he’s been told. Though he supposes Shaun is always up for obtaining new knowledge.

Mr Ramsey enters then, giving a curt nod to Shaun and then smiling brightly at Desmond,  “Finally free today, Desmond! How do you feel?”

“As much as I have enjoyed my time with you, I’m relieved to be leaving.”

“Oh, you wound me,” Ramsey mockingly clutches his heart. Shaun glares (although no one notices).

“I’ve got a bunch of stuff to run through with you — These are just standard ibuprofen, follow the instructions on the back. You’re going to need to wash and dry the sump daily, just soap and water will do and also do the same for the prosthetic socket. You can wear a sock over it to stop irritation, or even use the compression garment. We’ll do a check up in two weeks time but right now, I think that’s all I need to tell you. You are free to go!” Ramsey clasps Desmond’s hand in a firm handshake and claps him on the back, then gives another nod to Shaun before leaving.

“Get dressed quickly, I haven’t had time to stop for coffee yet,” Shaun grumbles. They stare at each other for moments, each waiting for the other to move.

“Shaun unless you want to see my bare ass I would suggest you wait outside or at least turn around.” Shaun goes red and then fumbles at the door handle. Desmond smirks and then begins to strip himself of the gown, only it’s harder than expected. He flounders to get a grip on the buttons at the base of his neck and back, losing his grip on them multiple times. He takes a breath and tries again, this time slower and more controlled. Once he peels it off, he begins struggling with his boxers and sweatpants. It’s time consuming, having to hike one side up and then the other but he gets there in the end. Next is the white t-shirt, which Desmond finds he can’t get on at all. He flips the t-shirt upside down and tries to put his arm through but it slips and hits the floor so he grits his teeth and tries again only to fail. He releases a sigh and pokes his head out the door.

“I can’t get my top on, do you mind?” Shaun looks startled at the request but silently follows him into the room. 

He fixates on Desmond’s torso, eyes taking in every inch of muscle, every scar littered there. Desmond notices and flexes, posing like a greek god which makes Shaun glare at him but his gaze falls back to his pecs anyway before he snaps out of it. He bunches the t-shirt up at the neck and pulls it over Desmond’s head, causing Desmond’s hair to flatten against his forehead. Desmond loops his arm into the sleeve but the material gets caught on his stump so Shaun moves the sleeve over the limb itself instead of Desmond having to find the gap. He pulls the t-shirt down Desmond’s torso and pats his sides, then rests his hand on his waist. They stand frozen for a moment, mere centimetres from each other and breathing in the same breath. Desmond stares down at Shaun’s head whilst Shaun stares at his hand on Desmond’s waist.

Desmond can’t help thinking how easy it would be to kiss the top of Shaun’s head right now.

Shaun moves away abruptly and the moment is broken. He hands Desmond a white windbreaker.

“It’s not your old jacket, unfortunately. The arm was completely shredded on that one. But it’s the next best thing,” Shaun says as he throws it around Desmond for him to slip his arms into and zips it up for him. Desmond forces the trainers onto his feet, not bothering to undo the laces and he’s ready to go. He carefully places the arm into the kit bag as well as the bags of sweets, books and other items that Shaun and Rebecca had brought previously, then throws it over his shoulder only to have it snatched off by Shaun who carries it and walks out the door without a word.

They sign out at the front desk and traipse around the car park. Being cooped up in the hospital meant he hadn’t been exposed to the cold weather until now and he pulls his jacket tighter against him to fight the cold. They come to a beat up, 4 door BMW — the paint is chipped in various places and the hubcaps filthy. The seats are made of worn, tan leather and despite the mint air freshener dangling from the rear view mirror, there's a musty smell. Desmond whistles.

"You think rental places would give you a nicer car to use. This is almost insulting." 

"It's not a rental, it's mine. As of seven days ago," Shaun says as he throws the kit bag in the boot. Desmond waits for him to sit in the driver seat before talking again.

"You bought a car? Just on a whim?"

"How else are we all supposed to get around? It was cheaper than a rental anyway. Only $250 for her because she's an old make," he says and pats the dashboard. 

Desmond smothers a grin and asks, "have you christened her yet?" Shaun chooses to switch the engine on and turn the radio up at that.

The drive back to the apartment complex is scenic; there are fields for miles, covered in snow and filled with cows, sheep and the occasional horse (which Desmond points out every time they pass one much to Shaun's chagrin). Desmond rests his head against the windows and closes his eyes, feeling his head vibrate as they rumble over the grit road. Shaun taps his fingers on the steering wheel along with the beat of the song and it lulls Desmond into a light sleep. He wakes up when he feels the car stop beneath him.

"Does the sleeping beauty want breakfast? Or is he going to sit in this car and freeze while I get myself a nice hot cup of tea?" Shaun says and shuts the door. Desmond yawns and gets out. The car beeps behind them as Shaun locks it. 

They've pulled in at a B&B that seems pretty barren if the lack of cars are anything to go by. A wave of heat envelopes them on the way in and Desmond hears Shaun sigh in relief. An older woman meets them at the door and escorts them to a table where they have a perfect view of the TV playing a home makeover show. The place is decorated with fairy lights and framed photos of country roads.  Shaun orders toast and tea whereas Desmond opts for pancakes and a hot chocolate. The hot chocolate comes with marshmallows and cream and the cream coats Desmond's upper lip. Shaun watches the movement of his tongue as he licks it away and then hides himself behind his own cup.

"Have you heard much from my dad?"

Shaun looks surprised at the question, as though he expected Desmond to have kept in touch with him himself. Desmond had known however that his father would become distant and withdrawn again, it was his nature. 

"Here and there," he shrugs. "It's usually just a short text: 'made connections', 'going well', 'new intel check email'. Bill communicates primarily with Lucy. Though I'm surprised he hasn't even been messaging you."

"I'm not. I mean, we've never been close as you probably already know. He isn't exactly getting a father of the year award anytime soon." Shaun looks like he wants to ask something but refrains from doing so. Desmond raises an eyebrow at him.

"Why did you leave the Farm? Lucy said it was to do with him." He asks it quietly, as though a huge secret that he doesn't dare speak. Desmond pauses for a moment before answering.

"Uh, yeah. He isn't a great man, y'know? It was like a prison there - there were strict day routines, we could only have so much food, homeschooling was taught with a narrow curriculum, and so on and so on. And then my mom and a few others died when they left the compound and he completely lost it. We were no longer allowed to even take a walk down the lane in case someone was watching us. He was looking over his shoulder constantly and the paranoia made him edgy. He snapped if we stepped out of line, saying we were putting everyone at risk. So I ran. And I don't regret it one bit."

Shaun wipes his mouth with a napkin and throws it onto the empty plate as Desmond finishes his story. "Christ. I never knew it was so … extreme. Thought he was just a bit of a tough guy." Desmond smiles sadly then shoves the last bit of pancake into his mouth. "Thank you. For telling me." Shaun says and he looks genuine. It makes Desmond feel soft in the middle so he diverts the conversation back to something that's comfortable; teasing.

"Shaun Hastings thanking me? I never thought I'd see the day." He smirks and Shaun's face immediately drops into a scowl and he fires the napkin at his head. They stack the plates up, Shaun pays the bill, and they're back on the road again.

It's another 30 minutes of fields and snow before they reach Watertown. In comparison with the previous town, it's busy and filled with bustling people and businesses. There are shops and restaurants on every block but Shaun drives straight past them onto a bridge that stretches across a dark river. The businesses become less frequent and are replaced with neighborhoods, flats, and parks. They drive through a caravan site until they come to a stop at an apartment complex surrounded by forest.  Desmond would describe the area as cute, homey. There's a park in the center where a number of children are playing, and the apartments themselves are white with flower decorated balconies. Shaun parks the car around back and lifts Desmond's bag out from the boot. He jingles the keys in the door and it swings open with a squeak.

"Home sweet home. Or as sweet as a nearly empty house can be." 

The living room they're standing in is almost completely bare. The sofa is a simple black fabric one which faces a small TV sat upon a stand. There's a coffee table with mugs and empty wrappers lying on it. The kitchen is simple as well; the cabinets are bare and there's an electric stove and small drinks fridge. The dining table is round and there are four seats situated around it.

"Your bedroom is the first on the right upstairs, it was Bill's. Mine is beside yours and Lucy is on the end. Though she’ll not be here to use it I guess." Shaun hands Desmond his bag back and Desmond heads up, Shaun following him to his own room.

Desmond flicks the light on and throws the bag onto the bed. The room is painted navy and there are grey bed sheets. There are shelves stocked with random books and there is a lone picture of a field. He takes the prosthetic out of his bag and sets it onto the bed and then empties the rest out, putting things away in different cupboards. Once he's settled, he shuts the door and begins doing his workout. He finds they don't take him long these days and so he's started to add exercises from his normal routine into them. To finish, he dons the prosthetic and practices moving it. He attempts to control the separate joints to no avail. It doesn't hinder him though and he travels downstairs with it on to work on his balance whilst moving.

Shaun is sitting on the sofa with his legs pulled to his chest and laptop balancing on his knees. There are papers scattered across the coffee table, covered in highlighter and pen marks. He does a double take when he spots Desmond, eyes landing on the prosthetic.

"It doesn't look half bad. At least you can't ruin this one with pointless tattoos."

Desmond decides then that his first goal is to learn how to give the middle finger with his prosthetic.

He does laps around the garden as well as the stairs. He wobbles a few times at the added mass but keeps his posture steady and manages to maintain his composure. When the 30 minutes that he was allocated for prosthetic use are up, he sits beside Shaun and starts the process to take it off. Shaun watches on in interest, humming and angling his head to get a better look. Desmond is just glad he's taking interest in the thing and not looking at him like he's a freak.

Desmond leans the prosthetic against the side of the sofa, flicks the TV on and turns to Shaun. He nods at the stack of papers and files and asks, "what are you doing?"

"William left contacts for multiple teams that may need help out on the field. There are only a few left to check in with. After that, I'm not sure."

"Whatd'ya mean?"

"I mean, William and Rebecca are scouting for information in Cornwall and Lucy is down surveying the Temple. I have nit picked possibly every reference there is to Juno and found nothing. I have searched far and wide for any connections with your dream and found nothing. I've even searched for cases involving stupid glowing arms and there is nothing! I have nothing to do!"

"And that's a bad thing?" 

"It's not bad, it's uncomfortable. There has to be more I can do. I'm not about to sit on my arse all day and wait for the others to come up with something." He holds his head in his hands and Desmond frowns at him, wanting to reach out and rub his shoulder. Instead, he gathers the papers and sets them in a pile in his lap.

"How about this; we account for all these teams, I'll call this out and you do the communicating. After that, we'll contact the others and see if there's anything they can give us. If not, we'll find something else to do until there is." 

Shaun peers at Desmond through his fingers then drags his hands down his face. He glances between the laptop and papers and nods, a determined look gracing his face. They get to work.

Desmond calls out numbers and names of agents on the teams and Shaun calls them, makes sure they're safe and on target to meet their goal, and provides them with any knowledge they may need, historical or otherwise. Desmond highlights the teams on paper that they've made contact with and Shaun annotes it. They work like this until it's late in the afternoon, though it seems much later because of the sun setting early. Desmond knows he didn't contribute much but he feels good about getting it done for Shaun's sake.

Next, they call William.

"Hastings? Is there something wrong? Is Desmond alright?"

"He's fine, he's— well he was sitting beside me. Listen, I've finished accounting for the teams and was wondering if there's anything else you need us to do. Have you gathered any Intel of use?"

"Great work. There is something: John Standish. I want you to run checks on him, see what he's been up to at Abstergo. He has previous links with assassins and if we're looking to infiltrate Abstergo, he could be a possible way in. Don't make contact, just check him out and get back to me. I have to go," William says and the call ends. 

Desmond comes back into the room with a mug of tea for Shaun, then goes back and fetches a cup for himself. He carries a packet of biscuits under his armpit and drops them onto the sofa. Shaun swaps the laptop for his tea.

"What'd he say?" Desmond asks when he sits down and Shaun recounts the conversation to him. They take a 15 minute break as they sip their drinks and watch the Friends rerun on TV.

"I never really understood the hype about this show. I suppose I've never really watched it, but still," Desmond says.

"Oh it's an absolutely treacherous show. But it's a comfort show for many, including me as I was reluctantly introduced to it as a teenager," Shaun replies.

"Yeah? What else did teenage Shaun do? Were you full of angst and despair?" Desmond teases.

Shaun side eyes him before continuing, "I was bullied for multiple reasons, had no friends and ultimately had to fend for myself. I guess you could say that's despairing." 

Desmond cringes at himself and hands Shaun a rich tea as compensation for bringing it up. "I'm sorry man. That fucking sucks and those people fucking suck too. But I bet none of them are as cool as you are now. You could show up to your high school reunion and murder them, you are an assassin you know." The sentence pulls a chuckle out of Shaun and Desmond feels proud of himself for being the one to make that happen.

"Yeah, I bet that would go down swimmingly if I start swinging a blade about." 

Desmond shrugs, "but at least you'd look badass doing it. Have you ever fought using a blade?"

Shaun hums, "Not a bloody sword obviously because as you might be aware, they went out of style centuries ago, but a blade yes. Though I'm much more versed with a crossbow."

"Holy shit Shaun — that's so cool." 

Shaun raises an eyebrow at him like he's stupid. "You sit in an animus all day, reliving your ancestors memories, and outside of the animus you can do all these tricks and stunts, and you think me with a crossbow is amazing?" 

"I can't use a crossbow so yeah, I think it's pretty sweet. You should teach me some time!" 

"I'll consider it," Shaun says and there's a hint of a smile on his face.

He brings his laptop back to his lap and types in John Standish's name in the database. A list of entries load. "Alright, you write what I call out. How's that sound?" 

"Um, about that," Desmond says and his stump moves under the jacket. Of course he had to be right handed. A new plan was needed.

"Switch roles then," Shaun decides and hands Desmond the laptop. “All you have to do is skim through the information and read out what you think is most relevant; names, dates, places, his job role. You’ll know yourself when you come across it. Ready?”

Desmond clicks the first result which brings up Abstergo’s own profile on the man. It’s general information such as his personality and role within Abstergo. “Say’s here he configures new systems and updates, introduces new projects and ultimately oversees all technology operations. He pretty much has ultimate access to what they’re doing down there.” He reads on, “confident, outgoing, driven … seems like a self assured guy who knows what he’s doing.” 

Shaun writes this all down in a notepad and Desmond moves on to the next site which is Standish’s personal Facebook. It isn’t private, which surprises Desmond because he thought an IT specialist would take more care with securing their personal life. The account doesn’t have a lot on it — his photo album is filled with pictures of him with what looks like coworkers and friends but there’s no hint of him having a family. There aren’t many selfies but there are pictures of guitars and basses. Listed in his about me section is numerous different metal bands and comedy shows. His timeline features stupid technology memes and football posts. All things considered, he seems like a normal guy.

"Did dad mention what links this dude has with the brotherhood?" 

"Nope, just that they exist. Dig a little deeper and once we're out of info we can start looking through our own databases."

Desmond checks news articles where he's mentioned for significant technological developments, winning an award, or gala appearances. His twitter holds nothing interesting, barely used, and his LinkedIn only supplies information of his IT experience. After exhausting google for information on him, Desmond hands the laptop back to Shaun for him to work the database. Like Shaun mentioned, there are records of his involvement with the brotherhood — he had provided them with information on what the Templar’s have been looking into recently including their ongoing search for the Pieces of Eden and precursor boxes, and had allowed the assassins insights into the happenings inside Abstergo.

“He looks decent. You think he would help us?” 

“Bill seems to think he will and it’s his call not mine. It doesn’t matter what I think.”

“I guess but it’s me who’s asking.”

Shaun turns to face him, “I don’t know. I don’t think it’s wise to put all our eggs in one basket as the saying goes, especially not to someone we don’t really know. He may have helped the brotherhood but he isn’t one of us.” Desmond makes a noise in agreement.

Shaun shuts the laptop down and gathers up all the papers into a folder, placing a sticky note on it with the title 'Standish - call Bill" on it. He checks his watch, it's just past 4. "You wanna head into town and get dinner? You don't have clothes either except what you have on you, we can go shopping I suppose."

"Shopping? With Shaun Hastings? Like I would give up a chance to see this," Desmond says, letting his tongue sit between his teeth. He slips his jacket on and follows Shaun out to the car. 

They hit the shops first before they close at 6 and Desmond picks up numerous different coloured t shirts, 3 pairs of jeans, 1 of which were ripped at the knees (and how Shaun made fun of him for that choice, 2 hoodies, an extra pair of trainers, and packets of socks and underwear. Shaun buys a cardigan (which Desmond makes fun of). The trip takes around an hour and a half because Desmond scoots around the shops riding off the back of the trolley, skating away from Shaun at every turn only to be shoved from the trolley by Shaun as he takes back control. They throw the bags in the boot of Shaun's car and drive to an Italian restaurant just five minutes away.

The place is busy with couples, young and old, and families with their children. The overhead lights are dim but the tables are decorated with candles and flowers. It's … romantic. They're escorted to a table in the corner where they sit across from each other and are handed menus by the teenage boy who looks like he would rather be anywhere else but working tonight. The smell of freshly baked pizza and cheese wafts in the air as though it's the restaurant's own air conditioning. Shaun orders a ravioli dish with water and Desmond a tortellini dish with a pint of beer. Whilst they wait, they simply sit and take the place in.

"Nothing like the authentic Italian restaurants back in Monteriggioni," Shaun muses.

"Of course not. No one does Italy like the actual Italians." 

"I wish we could have stayed in Rome longer. There was so much history to be discovered."

"Apologies, I didn't mean to become comatose," Desmond says. Shaun looks guilty before realising he's only teasing. "Anyway," Desmond continues, "we could always end up back there. Work or leisure."

Shaun chuckles skeptically, "I can't remember the last time I had a holiday before I came to the Order. I doubt it'll happen anytime soon." 

"Never say never. If you're 50 and still haven't been back, I'll take you." Desmond says and it isn't a lie; he would do a lot for Shaun though he doesn't know that. Shaun only quirks an eyebrow at him, but his face is soft.

Their meals are set down in front of them after ten minutes. Desmond fumbles with the fork, not used to using his left hand, and it slips and slides out of his hand, his fingers gripping it awkwardly. Shaun pauses, his own fork just millimetres from his mouth and when Desmond glares at him, he takes a bite and looks away.

"I bet this stuff is miles better than hospital food," Shaun says to try and ease the subtle tension. It works a bit as Desmond finally gets a forkful of pasta into his mouth. He sags back in the chair and groans as the food reaches his taste buds. Shaun's eyes widen minutely at the sound and he scoffs another bite into his mouth.

"Hell yeah. I never want to see another shepherd's pie in front of me for a long time." He wolfs down the pasta, finally getting a proper grip on his fork, and sauce drips down his chin. He breaks only to take sips of his beer. Shaun eats at a more civilized speed, patting his mouth with a napkin when he's done and refrains from making a snarky comment about the food currently dried on Desmond's chin.

"You want dessert?"

"What's the occasion Shaun? You sure are treating us today. Who knew you could be so soft!" Desmond pokes fun at him. 

"Guess we'll just get the bill then." Shaun deadpans and he raises his hand to call a waiter over but Desmond grabs his sleeve from across the table and pulls him down.

"No, no. Dessert sounds great. I was just messing," he says with a grin. He's still clutching Shaun's sleeve when the waiter comes to take their plates and make a new order for their desserts of which Shaun goes for tea and cheesecake and Desmond a fudge cake. Shaun pulls the arm away from Desmond and shoves it in his pocket to check his phone.

"Rebecca's out of work. She says the guys there are intimidated by her "raging tech skills". Her words, not mine." 

Desmond snorts, "Yeah I fucking bet. She's scary regardless." 

"Rebecca? Scary?" Shaun's eyes are wide with disbelief and he's grinning like the cat that caught the canary. He slams his hand on the table and rolls his head back, letting out a proper laugh as opposed to the silent huffs of air he usually does. The sight throws Desmond through a loop and makes his heart clench in fondness. He knows Shaun's laughing at his own expense but if that's what it takes for Shaun to look like that, carefree and content, then Desmond would embarrass himself a hundred times over.

"Christ Des, that was a good one. I can't wait to tell her that you think she's scary," he grins as he texts her back. A moment later his phone pings as does Desmond's. Desmond opens the text:

**RC** : you have no idea how glad i am to hear that you think i'm scary. it's all i've ever wanted. i feel so powerful. thank you  _ (18:45) _

**RC** : sorry i havent caught up with you today. work >:(  _ (18:46) _

**RC** : what are you and shaun doing? ;)  _ (18:49) _

Desmond suppresses a grin and slides his phone back into his pocket just as the waiter arrives with their desserts and Shaun's tea.

"You've been friends with her for longer, of course you don't find her intimidating any more. Once, I went to touch a button on Baby and she grabbed my finger and nearly bent it back trying to move me away. I learnt that day not to mess with her. I swear I saw chaos in her eyes." Desmond tells him, waving his hand about for dramatic effect while Shaun just looks amused. "How long have you known Rebecca?"

"Almost seven years," he responds and Desmond's jaw gapes open at that, he never knew it was for so long, instead believing it had only started when she had saved him from Abstergo. "We met on forums, when I would post my conspiracies. She always used to warn me about potential threats but she entertained them too, debating with me and sending me links to new information and stuff. So we got to know each other, found we had quite a bit in common. I actually traveled here to meet her, we went go-karting," he smiles wistfully, like he's replaying the day in his head. "I was gutted to have to leave but who knew only two years later that it would be her to knick me out from under Abstergo. She's always been the best," Shaun finishes. Desmond wishes he could have met them sooner and under different circumstances. They're the only real friends he's ever had.

They stack their plates and split the bill then drive home in silence except for the radio. Once back at the apartment, Desmond empties the clothes he bought onto his bed and begins to put them into drawers, but not before changing into a pair of tartan, plaid pyjama bottoms and a black t-shirt. This time around, he wiggles himself awkwardly into the shirt, not wanting to disturb Shaun and ask for help. He gets caught up in the material as he twists to try and force his arm into the sleeve. Eventually he gets it and he pushes the other sleeve up to free his stump.

He notices one last item in the bag and sniggers when he pulls it out; he had completely forgotten about the item he had bought for Shaun. He shuffles next door to Shaun's room and raps the door. It opens with Shaun standing there in his own grey t-shirt and cotton black bottoms. His glasses aren't on his face and it allows Desmond to really get a look at his crisp blue eyes. God, he could stare into them all day.

"You okay?" Shaun asks, a frown on his face. He's squinting at Desmond, obviously unable to see.

"Close your eyes. I have a present for you." Shaun raises a skeptical eyebrow at him but closes them nonetheless. Desmond drops a t-shirt into his hands. "And open!"

Shaun looks down at his hands - there's a neatly folded t-shirt sitting in them with the words 'PEW PEW' written across it in the block yellow Star Wars font. Just beneath those words, it says 'VROOSH. BEEP BOOP. VROOSH' in a smaller white font. Shaun appears pleased, a subtle smirk on his face and his eyes bright with mirth.

"I saw it and thought of you, because you like Star Wars, so I sneaked it into the trolley without you knowing. Thought you might like it," Desmond says, feeling a little bashful. He stares at the ground and crosses his arms, fidgeting from side to side.

"Thanks Des," Shaun says after what feels like an eternity and Desmond beams at him, feeling himself flush a little. "Um, do you maybe wanna watch it with me now? I can get them up on my laptop." Now it's Shaun's turn to act shy.

"Oh … how about tomorrow? Today has really taken it out of me and I gotta get some rest before Samir comes tomorrow." Desmond regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth because he can see Shaun retreat back into himself, the walls he had worked to get down today slowly coming back up as his smile falters and eyes harden. Shaun thinks this is a rejection; Desmond wants to kick himself. He tries to save it, "Thank you for today. For everything really, bringing me stuff in the hospital. I appreciate it. And a dumb t-shirt is the least I could do to repay you." Shaun seems to brighten a little bit so Desmond counts it as a win.

"It's nothing. Uh, goodnight? I guess."

"Night Shaun." Shaun shuts his bedroom door and Desmond stands there for a moment, watching his shadow move from under the crack. 

Eventually, he turns to go into the bathroom. Like he was instructed, he soaks a face cloth with lukewarm water and pats his stump. It stings when he gets to where the stitches previously where and he hisses as it throbs for a second. He dabs it dry then moves on to where the graft is. Under the luminescent light in the bathroom, he can see the purple undertones as though they're neon. He soaks that area too and again pats it dry. Pulling his sleeve back over it, he stares at himself in the mirror.  His face is skinny, cheekbones like craters with how deep they run. There are dark bags under his eyes that make it look as though his eyes have completely sunk back into their sockets. His stubble is beginning to grow again around his jaw and there are red blotches on his cheeks from not having washed his face. His hair is still greasy, flattened on his forehead and caked with dry shampoo. He's in desperate need for a shower.

He pads softly back to his own room and gets under the covers. The bed is ice cold from no one staying in it and he shivers to generate some heat. Through the wall he can hear Shaun's bed creaking every so often as he tosses and turns. Eventually he stills, presumably fallen asleep and Desmond is right behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk if its showing up for anyone else but on every chapter, there's an end note from an earlier chapter where i say that the chaps p short but i hope you like it,, but i cant seem to remove it from the chapters bc it isnt registered as an end note for that chapter?? idek if yall can see it, it shows up on both mobile and desktop so uhhh yeah. but if it does just ignore it.
> 
> anyway, star wars is shaun & des' always wbk


	7. 6th January

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> des and shaun spend some quality time together and shaun shares a lil bit of his past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: misuse of drugs (a drink is spiked in a flashback/story telling)

Shaun whips them up coffee and porridge for breakfast the next morning and they sit in a comfortable silence as Shaun flicks through a newspaper. The radio provides background noise as the news anchor provides weather and traffic updates. It's so domestic it physically pains Desmond. All they need now is a cat running under their heels and it would be a picture perfect scene from a romantic movie.

"I'm going to head for a shower, do you need the bathroom before me?" Desmond asks and Shaun shakes his head. "Well if you hear a clattering or a bang, I've probably fallen over," he says, mostly joking.

Shaun looks wary at that, "are you being serious?" Desmond shrugs because honestly he isn't sure, he could very well lose his balance. "Please try not to break your other arm. If you do I'm going to have to carry you out naked and I would really rather not," Shaun says, scrunching his nose up.

As Desmond waits for the shower to heat up, he grips the back of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head. It's a cleaner process than having to put a t-shirt on which he's glad for. He shimmies his pyjama bottoms and boxers down and stares at himself in the mirror. Like his face, he's gotten slightly skinnier everywhere else too although it’s less noticeable — his chest has lost some of its muscle and his hip bones are just beginning to jut out slightly. He frowns at the sight, cursing the hospital for their useless food and for interrupting his workout regime, then steps into the shower. 

The water pressure is like a drizzling rain and he changes the settings until it feels like hail stones on his back. The warmth makes him audibly groan as he tips his head back so that the water can hit off of his scalp. He lets it drip down his back but makes sure to keep his stump away from it. The pressure is grounding and helps clear his head for the first time since he arrived at the hospital. He squeezes shampoo into his hair and scrubs at his scalp as though there's months worth of grime buildup on it. The movement makes him feel a little disorientated and he curses the lack of a sticky mat for him to grip and avoid slipping. He lets his head fall back so that he can wash the suds away, then tips it forward to get the suds at the back of his neck.

He changes the settings on the shower head again so that the water pressure is soft and begins to lather himself up (avoiding his stump) with the body wash on the shelves. He knows it's Shaun's from the scent, bourbon cedar, and he thinks about how bad he wants it to be Shaun in the shower with him. The thought goes straight to his groin and he diverts his attention to washing it off. He is not about to get horny over Shaun’s stupid soap. He stands under the water a while longer until his fingers begin to prune and he's sweating from the heat then steps out, the steam rushing out from the closed doors and fogging the entire bathroom up.

He wipes at the mirror with a cloth so that he can see what he's doing as he dabs at his stump with the soap. He pats it dry first with the towel, then the rest of his body, and finally he scrubs and shakes his hair dry with the towel. He ties the towel around his waist and begins brushing his teeth. Lastly, he gathers his clothes in a bundle against his chest.

"Des? Are you alright? You've been in there a while," Shaun calls from the other side of the door. Desmond whips the door open and the steam rushes out and fogs up Shaun's glasses. He tuts and pulls them off to wipe them on his jumper then puts them back on. And realises that he's facing a very naked, slightly wet, Desmond. "That’s a yes then," he stammers, frozen to the spot. Desmond smirks and brushes past him to go to his own room, leaving Shaun standing there.

"I didn't know you cared so much," Desmond says, his tone teasing. He throws the clothes onto his bed and leans his arm against the door frame, jutting his hip out. Shaun looks anywhere but at him.

"You told me there was a possibility that — is that  _ my  _ body wash I smell?" he demands and Desmond's smirk turns into a grin. "That's expensive stuff! Go buy your own," Shaun fumes and stomps down the stairs. Desmond chuckles as he shuts the door and begins getting dressed. He throws a black t-shirt on, the same pair of tracksuit bottoms from yesterday, his trainers, and a compression garment onto his stump. 

He decides to complete his workout in the living area instead of in his room, the open plan giving him more space to move. Like before, he incorporates more exercises such as sit ups and leg lifts into his routine, pushing himself further each day to build his muscle back up. A breeze from the window brushes across his skin, cooling it down after the shower and he feels content, lying on the mat staring at the ceiling. He isn't sure how much time has passed when Shaun comes in and informs him that Samir has arrived.

Desmond runs upstairs to grab his prosthetic whilst Shaun makes small talk with Samir and fetches him a glass of water. Desmond comes back down with his prosthetic already attached and he's ready to go. Shaun excuses himself to the bedroom to give them some privacy.

"First off, I want you to show me what level you can move the arm at," Samir says. Desmond raises and lowers the arm, wiggles the fingers (albeit the movement is stunted) and can slightly bend the elbow (again, it's a jittery movement). Samir looks thoughtful and then requests Desmond to take the prosthetic off. He reaches into its casing to where the control center is and toggles with a switch. "I know your nerves were a bit fried and maybe they aren't up to scratch yet. This increases the sensitivity of the sensors so that they can pick up even the most subtle of electric signals from your muscles. Try it now." This time when Desmond moves the fingers and elbow, the movements are more fluid but they're also rapid.

"The strength and speed at which the prosthetic acts is caused by your muscle intensity. I can tell you that right there you were forcing your muscles to act which is why the movement was quick and not steady. Take it slow, your muscles will send a signal you don't have to force it. Try it again." Desmond takes his advice and this time he thinks about moving more naturally, more calmly. The fingers move gently, Desmond having full control over them as he focuses on them as though they're part of his own body. He moves each one individually, up and down and side to side. Samir gives him a quiet cheer and a small clap, "that's perfect!" Desmond tries it with the elbow and gets the same fluidity. 

"Now that you have control over your fingers, I'd like to see if you can open and close the hand using them. Right now, you're relaxed and the hand is open. When you flex or tense, all the fingers should move and the hand should close."

Desmond susses out how it feels when he's relaxed and then flexes and releases. The hand closes and opens again quickly. He tries again and flexes for five seconds, the hand closes and stays closed until he releases again. He repeats it, keeping it closed for longer and longer each time. Samir praises him again.

"See these buttons on the back of the hand? You can press these to switch control between the fingers, hand, and wrist." There are 3 tiny buttons, one of which is glowing green. "You're currently on finger control as shown by the green light. We're going to keep working with them for the moment being. If you can, make a fist, like you're going in for a fist bump."

Desmond tenses as though he's closing his hand but tucks his thumb under his fingers to make the fist. "Good. How about a peace sign?" Desmond keeps the hand tensed but focuses on lifting the index and middle finger upwards. "And now an OK sign." Desmond relaxes so that the hand opens and then moves the index finger down so that it meets the thumb which he angles. "Lastly, a rock sign." He struggles with this one due to the many components that need moved. He manages to lower the middle and ring finger but struggles to keep the pinky finger upright as it moves automatically with the ring finger. Samir sees that he's struggling and cracks the pinky finger so that it fixes in place.

"Each finger has the ability to be stuck in place by forcing it into the position that you want, just move it til you hear it click. It can help in situations like that although I doubt you're doing rock signs on the daily," he says with a chuckle. "I have one last activity for you before I go." He holds up a pen, "I want you to hold this between your thumb and index," and sets it down on the table.

Unable to move the hand separately yet, Desmond moves so that his arm is hovering above the table and the hand is facing downwards. He moves his fingers back into the OK sign and parting them slightly, he moves so that the finger and thumb are on either side of the pen. Then, he closes them so that they clamp around the pen and he picks it up. He pulls his arm back towards his chest, the pen staying balanced between his fingers the whole time. After successfully picking it up, he repeats that sequence of movements but in reverse to set the pen back on the table. There's a bright grin on both Desmond and Samir's face and Samir pats him on the back.

"You've done well today! This is great progress, don't forget that. As you know, there's a day between each of our sessions, so I want you to be practicing those finger movements from now until we next see each other. Branch out, do more signs or pick up more things. Nothing breakable, I don't want your boyfriend in there to shout at me for encouraging you to smash all the plates and cups," he laughs and Desmond stills at how he refers to Shaun but he doesn't have a chance to correct him as Samir is already packing his bag up and murmuring under his breath. Desmond walks him to the door.

"Next session, we'll hopefully go over controlling the wrist and hand. They can be quite complicated as it involves both learning how to move them in different directions and also what angles to move them. I'll call around the same time on Tuesday. If you can't make it, let me know." Shaun comes down the stairs then and Samir gives him a wave and a cheerful goodbye and then leaves.

"Cheery man," Shaun says once Desmond has shut the door.

"Better than someone who sucks the life out of the room," Desmond replies. He's feeling exhilarated from what he achieved today. Shaun takes notice.

"What'd you learn?" Desmond thinks about giving him a detailed run through but then smirks and instead gives him the middle finger with the prosthetic. Shaun's eyes widen and then he snorts into his cup of tea. "That'll come in handy I'm sure," he drawls in amusement. Desmond picks up the pen like earlier and shows him the different movements he can make with his hand. Shaun watches on intently and looks impressed when he's done. "You're getting the hang of it quickly. Well done," he says with genuine admiration. Desmond feels warm.

"I rang William about Standish. He said to not contact him until we have a proper plan for infiltration, if that is the plan we intend to follow." Shaun says.

"When will he know?" 

"He said wait for Lucy to contact us and see what she finds. If it's significant, we plan. If she doesn't, we wait it out. See if anything else happens." Desmond frowns. "Yeah I don't exactly like it either, but we aren't in charge." 

"Have you had any contact with Lucy?" Shaun shakes his head and Desmond's frown deepens. "I'll give her a text."

**DM** : Call me when you get this  _ (14:36)  _

He remembers Rebecca's text from last night and replies to her.

**DM** : Nothing you wouldn't do :P  _ (14:38) _

**DM** : You up for a call later?  _ (14:39) _

Sliding his phone back in his pocket, he asks Shaun, "You got much work to do?" 

"None. I'm going mad!" he replies, dragging his hands down his eyes.

"We could go out? I hear there's a zoo around here." 

"You … you want to go to a zoo?" Shaun says and Desmond shrugs.

"What else is there to do?" He can see Shaun considering it, the gears turning in his head and then he throws his head back and groans.

"It's freezing, Desmond!" he exclaims and stares out the window at the snow. "Jesus," he mutters under his breath, "zoo it is." 

Desmond's surprised he agreed so readily but he doesn't dare question it and instead bounces off to the car to wait for Shaun who emerges from the apartment ten minutes later having put a plaid coat over his jumper and a bag flung over his shoulder.

Desmond looks at the bag, "what's in there?"

"A hat, a pair of gloves, a scarf, and hand heaters." When Desmond looks close to laughing he snaps out, "I'm not about to get frostbite but please! Feel free to yourself!" Desmond holds his hand up in surrender.

* * *

Five minutes into the drive, Desmond speaks up. "When did you learn to drive?"

"Uh, I was 16 I think?" Shaun says, distracted by the road in front of him, "Britain doesn't exactly have a great transport system. The prices for tickets are … phwoah. It worked out cheaper to get a car than having to travel on trains and buses to and fro school and work everyday." 

"Geez, capitalism is a bitch right," Desmond responds, which pulls a laugh from Shaun.

"Tell me about it. Did you start working immediately after you left the farm?"

"Yup — I started as a waiter actually and then the mixologist quit. They didn't have time to find a new one, so they trained me instead. Worked there for six years after that until this happened. I miss it sometimes, the atmosphere was amazing and there was always great live music. I hope to go back one day, I'll take you and the others too, make you up a concoction of your choice." 

"I'll stick to my hot drinks thanks very much. I worked as a professor, well, a junior professor at my university. I was training, almost about to graduate when Abstergo found me. Annoying really, I rather liked the idea of teaching history to people. Giving them an insight into new knowledge."

"Isn't that what you do now, in a roundabout way. You've certainly provided me with new knowledge. Every day with you is a new teaching day," Desmond says and Shaun shrugs. Desmond feels his phone vibrate in his pocket.

**RC** : yeah!! i get off work at 6!  _ (15:10) _

**RC** : what are you doing today?  _ (15:10) _

**DM** : Me and Shaun are going to the zoo :)  _ (15:11) _

**RC** : omg!!!! send photos. i want to hear everything later!  _ (15:13) _

"Becca finishes work at six, she wants us to ring," Desmond informs Shaun as he parks the car. Shaun pulls a grey beanie over his head, places a pair of gloves on, then winds a grey scarf around him, going so far as to cover his nose. Desmond who grins at him, "You look stupid."

"I won't be taking care of you if you get sick," Shaun says, muffled by the scarf, and he ducks out of the car.

Desmond pays the fee in and they lift a map and make their way into the zoo. There's a fork in the road in front of them so Desmond looks at the map.

"Wolves are on up first on the right and elk are first on the left. Ultimately it loops back around, it's like a huge U shape park with a park and some food trailers thrown in the middle. Where do you wanna start?"

"Wolves, obviously," Shaun scoffs and walks ahead over to their enclosure. There are at least four wolves prancing about: one white, two gingery brown and one dark grey. Three of them chase around a blue enrichment cylinder, kicking and nudging at it, yapping when it flies across the snow. The white wolf lies upon a tall shelter made of wood and watches. "They're majestic, don't you think?"

"Meh. I bet I could kick a cylinder about and look graceful too," Desmond jokes. He looks behind him at another enclosure featuring Wolverines. "Now these, these guys are cool." He snaps pictures of them.

"Hugh Jackman did it better," Shaun quips. 

"They aren't as hot as Hugh Jackman that's for sure. If I thought they were, I'd be worried for my sanity." 

They walk on, encountering pumas, owls, and some deer, Desmond taking pictures of each once. There's a peacock milling about freely and Shaun walks behind Desmond when they get close to it.

"Shaun, don't tell me you're scared of a fucking bird," Desmond laughs but the peacock flutters its huge tail out and shakes and Desmond jerks as it suddenly becomes ten times bigger than before.

"Don't tell me you're scared of a fucking bird," Shaun mimics in a terrible American accent then flips him off and walks around the bird.

"Whatever," Desmond mutters and he keeps his eyes on the peacock until he passes it.

They pick up ice creams from the ice cream truck despite the biting weather and sit across from each other on a bench to eat them. Desmond makes a mess of course, licking the ice cream that's currently running down his hand and sucking on the edge of the cone to try and save the dripping mess which results in it plastering on his nose. Shaun, exquisitely clean, hands him a napkin along with what is most definitely a glare.

"It's like hanging out with a child," Shaun says as Desmond snaps a picture of his messy face, and then one of Shaun mid complaining whilst holding his own ice cream and sends them to Rebecca.

They continue through the zoo, Desmond now regretting not wrapping up warm as the cold bites at his nose. It blows through his thin jacket which results in surges of pain in his stump. It's a dull throbbing pain that isn't exactly noticeable but every so often when they stop at an exhibit, Desmond becomes aware of it again.

Luckily, there are only a few exhibits left including a pond of turtles and different kinds of fish as well as some flamingos lurking around. Then there's a small black bear which comes right up to the glass, causing Shaun to startle a bit.

"It's just like a big dog!" Desmond says. Shaun gapes at him like he's mad.

"I dare you to take him home with you and see how long you last." 

"I bet I could train it so that it can help us kill our enemies."

"If it doesn't kill you before then," Shaun mutters.

They pass the elk from the beginning of the park, which fit right in with the snow, it coating the fur on their backs, then they deviate down a path towards the exit where they find one last exhibit; a huge eagle sits perched on a branch, it's head whipping around in every direction and then it begins to preen its wings.

"Isn't it cool I can see what she sees? What colour do you think she sees us?" Desmond asks Shaun, genuinely interested. He imagines they would see their prey in yellow, any other predators in red and their mate or family in blue.

"I don’t know Desmond, I’m not an ornithologist," he shrugs, "research it when we get back."

They pass through the gift shop on their way to the exit and Desmond picks up a tiny wolverine teddy and shows Shaun. "I'll buy it for you," he says as though it's nothing and he pays for it then hands it back to Shaun who looks flabbergasted. 

Then Shaun pulls a tiny eagle teddy out from behind his back and hands it to Desmond. "I bought this for you when you weren't looking," he says, staring at the wolverine in his palm and turning bright red.

"Great minds think alike!" Desmond beams but on the inside he's having a fit.  _ Shaun bought an eagle teddy for him … because it reminded him of Desmond. _

When they get back to the car, Desmond props the two teddies up on the dashboard so that they're huddled together and takes a picture. He sends it to Rebecca also.

**DM** : *1 attachment* 

Me and Shaun!!!  _ (16:52) _

**RC** : uwu :3  _ (17:01) _

He turns the heating on in the car which makes Shaun murmur a quiet "I told you so" but Desmond doesn't tell him it's actually because the dull ache in his stump is now bright and pulsating. He winces and digs his hand into his jacket to rest it on the limb, hoping the body heat will warm it quicker than the car.

Once back at the apartment, Desmond hurries upstairs to grab a hoodie but finds he can't get it on, the material thicker than a normal t-shirt. He hits his fist off the dresser when he realises he's going to have to ask Shaun for help again. 

Shaun is currently propping the two teddies up so that they sit beside each other on the coffee table. He's flicking through takeaway menus.

"Pizza or chinese? If we order now it should get here by  —  what?" Shaun cuts off upon seeing Desmond standing there silently, his teeth clenched.

"Can you help me put this on?" he grits out. 

"Yeah, of course." He holds the hoodie open so that Desmond can put his arm and limb in and then throws it over his head, the hood covering the top of Desmond's face.

"I feel useless. I can't even put my fucking clothes on without either your help or struggling and fighting with the item," he grunts. Shaun isn't too sure what to say to that so he just rambles out some words that he prays are comforting.

"I know maybe this isn't what you want to hear, but you are going to struggle. With more than just your clothes, forks for example,” he says referring to the restaurant. “You've only been out of hospital a day and learning how to do things isn’t going to come quickly. But the important thing to remember is that you'll get there.” He finishes and Desmond pulls him into a hug before he can step back.

Shaun stills against him with his arms hanging limply at his sides and Desmond feels bad, knowing Shaun isn’t a touchy feely person, but Desmond needs this and Shaun's words grounded him, pulling him away from thoughts of self hatred. He knew the things he said were true, had told himself that, but it’s one thing to tell yourself and another to have someone close to you say it too. Shaun eventually relaxes and puts his arms around Desmond, patting his back awkwardly.

Desmond is so much bigger than Shaun - he's a head taller than him for a start which Desmond always used for teasing material, looming over him when he wanted Shaun to do something for him or just to be annoying (like holding the tea bags above his head). Desmond was also much broader than Shaun, his shoulders currently dwarfing Shaun's slender body. Desmond felt like a teenage girl in that he wanted to press their hands together just to see the size difference (and see how small Shaun's hand would look held in his).

He releases Shaun after a few seconds, just short enough to keep it friendly but long enough so that Shaun knows how fucking grateful he is. He turns away from him to compose himself then he picks up the menus as though nothing had happened. "I don't know about you, but I fancy a Chinese."

"Chinese it is," Shaun says quietly, almost a whisper and he orders multiple boxes of food for them to share.

"Hey, where did you set the painkillers yesterday?" Desmond calls from the kitchen.

"They're in the drinks cabinet, why?"

"Uh, my limb is being a pain in the ass." He fills a glass with water and swallows two of the tablets, grimacing at the bitter taste they leave at the back of his throat. 

"What's wrong with it?" 

"The cold got to it. I always thought that was a myth, weather affecting injuries. Apparently not."

Shaun looks alarmed, "why didn't you say anything? I brought hand heaters with us, you could have taken one if you needed it." 

Desmond waves his concern away, “I'll know for next time." Shaun is still apprehensive but says nothing, just opens his laptop to get ready to call Rebecca.

* * *

Their takeaway arrives twenty minutes later and Shaun dishes it out onto different plates; there's chips, rice, chicken, ribs, prawns, noodles, two pots of curry, and a bag of prawn crackers. Desmond brings it bottles of beer from the fridge for him and a bottle of water for Shaun. His stomach growls at the sight of the food and he looks down at the chopsticks.

"I can barely use a fork and you want me to use chopsticks?" he says to Shaun who is currently picking up a ball of chicken with them. He goes to the kitchen to get a fork then slumps back into the sofa, fiddles with the fork until he can grip it securely, then piles chips and rice into his mouth. Grains of rice fall out of his mouth onto his hoodie which makes Shaun mutter an 'ugh' in repulsion.

Rebecca calls them after 10 minutes - she's in what Desmond assumes is her work clothes: a blue shirt with a loose tie and black slack pants. She looks more than happy to see them.

"Aw, you guys got chinese! I'm majorly jealous right now," she pouts. "Bill brings us home a 'healthy' dinner every night. God, I'm so sick of eating salads and stews," she sticks her tongue out in disgust. 

"Break out of there and run back to us," Desmond jokes and she groans.

"Holy shit I so would. I miss you all. How’ve you been?”

“Great!” Desmond says as though his tiny blip moments ago didn’t happen. “Had my first occupational therapy session today and I can now give the middle finger.”

“Hell yeah, go you. And what about your arm? Any improvements?”

Desmond looks at Shaun guiltily and then back at Rebecca, “It's fine." he says at the same time Shaun says "It's hurting him." They both glare at each other and Rebecca quirks an eyebrow.

"His arm has been hurting him all day because of the cold and he never told me,” Shaun says.

"Des!" she scolds.

"It's no biggie and I took painkillers. Like I told Shaun, I'll be more prepared next time." He tells her details of his accomplishments from his meetings and she praises him throughout. Her friendship makes him feel fuzzy. Or it might be the alcohol.

"I hope Shaun isn’t being too grouchy,” she says.

“I am capable of being nice you know!” Shaun protests.

“He is actually being very accommodating. Took me to dinner last night and everything.”

“I know, he told me. Lucky you — the last time Shaun took me out was to a KFC. I’m pescetarian.” she dead pans and Desmond snorts.

“It slipped my mind,” Shaun mutters beside him.

“How’s yourself?” Desmond asks her.

“Ugh, undeniably bored. My work is so easy, I’m wasted potential here,” she boasts which causes both Shaun and Desmond to grin. “Bill and I have been taking trips to Montreal to scope out Abstergo but there’s been no suspicious activity coming in or out. Other than those two jobs, I’ve hardly had time for myself. This is the first downtime I’ve had in a while.”

“Where is my dad right now?”

“Montreal. He finished work early so he headed up there which is why I’m free this evening. Anyway, tell me about the zoo; the pictures you sent were so cute! Especially the little bear,” she says, making some puppy-dog eyes.

“You too? I thought Desmond was mad when he compared it to a dog,”

“You just lack imagination Shaun,” she responds and he uses his hand to mimic her.

"Rebecca, what's cooler: a wolf or a wolverine?" Desmond asks.

She's quiet for a moment. "I'm going to have to say wolverines. Tiny but feisty!"

"Just like Shaun," Desmond snorts and Shaun smacks him on the back of the head. "What? Why do you think I bought you that teddy!"

"Because you were being nice? How dare I believe you weren't making fun of me for once!" Shaun fumes but he isn't really angry (at least Desmond doesn't think so).

"Why did you get Desmond the eagle?" Rebecca asks Shaun.

"Because he uses eagle vision! It's hardly because he's bald and can fly!" he huffs.

Desmond ruffles Shaun's hair, "Aw I didn't mean to hurt your feelings." 

Shaun pushes his hand away with a muttered, "Bugger off," and goes back to finishing his food.

"Becs, tell me a story of when Shaun wasn't so moody."

"Oi!" 

"Hmm, let's see … there was that time we went undercover at a bar with another agent, Galina. It was two years ago I think. I'd ask Shaun if he remembers it but I know for a fact he doesn't: he was black out drunk." Shaun buries his head in his hands and a huge smile breaks out on Desmond's face. "We were in London following a lead regarding a Sword of Eden; there were reports Rikkin was searching for it, and he has headquarters there so we flew out. Shaun, being a native, knew all the popular spots to hit - places that you wouldn't expect ancient artifacts dealing to go down but hiding in plain sight and all. Located three of our targets at a bar in the center, Shaun sat beside them and pretended to be interested in the footie, although I don't think it was pretending."

"I'm just a very good actor. I detest football."

"They caught on to us quickly, you aren't that good of an actor," she glares. "They slipped a MDMA into his drink when he wasn't looking, Galina and I didn't notice because the three were crowded around each other. Ended up off of his rocker: started dancing with randoms, hooting at the TV, pretty sure he pecked the cheek of everyone in the establishment," she finishes with a giggle. Shaun's knee is jiggling up and down and Desmond can see his flushed face from where he has his palms covering it.

"Eventually the bartender chucked him out and I sneaked out with him. They never caught on to Galina so she stayed behind to see if she could pick up any more intel which she didn't; they were clueless, hadn't located it yet. I dragged him back to the flat we were staying at and we had to stay for another five days because he was sick as a dog — majorly dehydrated, couldn’t hold any food down, he was basically a walking zombie.”

“I haven’t had a drop of alcohol since,” Shaun says, the sound muffled by his hands. 

"Jesus … I said not moody,  _ not  _ spiked and high off of drugs," Desmond winces. 

"I know," she sighs, looking a little put out, "but you didn't see his dancing. Oh God Des, he did the sprinkler! And the robot!” she throws her head back and clutches her sides. The sight makes Desmond grin. 

“Yes, yes, laugh it up,” Shaun grimaces as he drops his fork onto a now empty plate.

“Aw, I’m sorry Shaun,” she pouts, “if it’s any consolation, you’ve seen the worst of my hangovers too.”

“Lightweight,” Desmond pokes fun at her, coming down from his own laughing fit. “Gross, I’ve laughed so hard I’ve started to sweat. The chinese isn’t helping either. Shaun, take my hoodie off for me?” he asks without thinking. Shaun’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline and his face and neck burn bright. Rebecca guffaws and it takes a minute for Desmond to realise what he said. Then his face burns. “I just, I can’t, um, I struggle with clothes. One hand and all.”

“Of course, of course. I get it,” she says, winking. Shaun’s hands falter as he reaches for the shoulders of Desmond’s hoodie, unnerved by the … audience. He tugs it upwards to allow Desmond to wriggle out of it and then pulls it away, falling backwards slightly at the force. The hoodie lands somewhere on the floor beneath them. Rebecca looks smug. “Glad to see you two are getting along well.”

“Rebecca? Who are you speaking to?” William calls. His voice is distant and tinny. Desmond’s smile falters when he hears him; Shaun notices but says nothing.

“Desmond and Shaun,” she calls back. “You wanna come talk?” William sits himself down beside Rebecca — his beard has gotten longer and there are grey streaks making themselves prominent in his hair.

“Shaun, any progress with Standish?” is the first thing he says. Desmond seethes silently; work always came first and Desmond had come to accept that from a young age. He was naive to think anything had changed.

“I mailed everything to your tablet earlier,” Shaun responds, glancing between William and Desmond.

“Great work,” he says, looking at his tablet instead of at Desmond, who is scowling. Eventually he lifts his head, “how’s the limb?”

“Brilliant,” Desmond dead-pans. “Therapy is going well and I’m making good progress.”

William sighs at the tone, “I’m sorry I haven’t been keeping in touch. I’ll do better, promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Desmond growls. Shaun sucks a breath in through his teeth and leaves to take the dishes and empty chinese cartons into the kitchen. Rebecca moves off screen too. Despite his foul mood, Desmond elaborates on his sessions, recounting the same information he told Rebecca. William hums and ahs, asks a question every so often and the anger Desmond feels settles a little bit. Perhaps there’s still hope for a relationship between them.

But then the conversation becomes stilted; there’s only so many  _ how are you _ and  _ how is work  _ one discussion can take and Desmond can’t find it within him to ask anything else, to have a talk about anything outside of those topics. Desmond doesn’t  _ know  _ his father, not really. The first 16 years of Desmond’s life, he knew his father only as the slave-driver. For the nine years after that, he didn’t know him at all. And now in these last few months, they’ve only gotten to know each other as work colleagues; they know nothing about each other and Desmond isn’t sure if he wants to try.

Luckily, Shaun comes back into the living area to save him from the uncomfortable situation. Rebecca moves back into the frame too.

“What’s the plan for the rest of the evening?” she asks, trying to lift the spirits.

“We were gonna watch Star Wars, right?” Desmond looks to Shaun who nods jerkily. “What about you?”

“Oooh! That’s a good idea. I might load up a movie too, I’ll let you know my choice when I decide,” Rebecca responds.

“I’ll be looking over these files Shaun sent,” William adds on and Rebecca makes a snoring sound.

“We should go; I suspect I’m going to be listening to Shaun’s rambling for most of the night and I need to have all my energy to keep up with him. Goodnight,” Desmond says and Shaun waves at the camera as William and Rebecca wave and wish them goodnight back.

When the call ends, Desmond rests his head on the back of the sofa. “I know perhaps it isn’t my place to ask, but what’s your relationship with your father like?”

Shaun startles at the unexpected question, "Oh. I - it's alright I suppose." He keeps his attention on the blank laptop screen in front of him and Desmond knows he's lying so he gives him a pointed look. "Yeah, it's a good relationship. I'm close with my family, send them a letter once a month. Although they can't reply because of how much I move about and for security reasons. I miss them," he says, melancholy. "My father is an anthropology lecturer at the university I attended, we're very alike in that we're both intellectually driven. He believes I'm over here tutoring for history, moving from school to school. It's shit having to lie to him but I can hardly tell him I'm an assassin, can I? It sounds awfully cult like."

"Our family unit is quite strong - my mum and dad are still together luckily. We would try and go on holidays together once a year, provided they could get time off and if money was available, we had game nights every Thursday, we got a dog too: a springer spaniel called Rosie. It was a comfortable childhood and I'm glad I was able to grow up in such an environment. I only wish you had the same experience," Shaun finishes..

"That sounds nice," Desmond whispers. He clears his throat, uncomfortable in the somewhat tense atmosphere he had accidentally created. "I’m going to go change," he says and gets up and walks upstairs before Shaun can even open his mouth.

Nearly slamming the bathroom door, Desmond places his hands on either side of the sink and stares down the plug hole. His chest heaves and his knuckles are white from his iron grip. Something tingles in the back of his throat and it feels as though it's about to close up. Speaking about family wasn't one of Desmond's strong suits. It wasn't Shaun's fault; Desmond had technically pressed him to open up and Shaun (bless him) had been reluctant to do so, even tried to downplay it. William Miles owes Desmond thousands in therapy fees.

He takes a deep breath, counts to five, and then bustles around like nothing had happened. He cleans his stump, moisturises his shoulder, brushes his teeth and finally changes into his pyjamas. He checks his phone and frowns at the lack of response from Lucy. Sure it was common for them to lose contact whilst in the field but this wasn't technically a mission. He sends her some question marks and hopes she's just busy as opposed to anything worse.

When he returns downstairs, Shaun is sat in front of the DVD player with three discs splayed in front of him. 

“We’re starting with the prequels because it’s the correct way to watch them,” he declares and then more quietly says, “the internet nerds can continue to fight me on that one.”

Desmond smiles fondly and settles into the sofa with the bags of sweets he brought down from his bag. “I trust your judgement, Jedi Master Hastings,” he grins. So maybe Desmond had looked into a few bits of the franchise so that he could slightly impress Shaun, so what? Shaun’s face had lit up at the title and he swished his tongue around in his mouth before biting it and looking away, hiding a smile.

Desmond would count that as a win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you all have a nice week!


	8. 13th January

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> minerva is back on her bullshit, lucy has returned, and there are multiple revelations made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayo apologies this is late, i had a lot going on this weekend! hope this chapter makes up for it though. + thank you for all the comments and kudos uwu <3  
> note - i try to stay as close to canon as possible when it comes to facts and timelines but for the purpose of the story i change some things up a bit, for example, the isu characteristics as shown in this chapter.
> 
> content warnings: minor injury, minor blood.

It's a week before they hear anything from Lucy.

Shaun pounds on Desmond's bedroom door at 8 in the morning much to Desmond's chagrin. He heaves himself out of bed and throws open the door. He can't even glare at Shaun because a laptop is immediately shoved in his face.

There are multiple pictures on screen — people moving in and out of the Temple wearing masks, boxes of equipment being brought in, boxes containing different pieces of the temple including the power cells being loaded into a van, and lastly, pictures of the vans and their registrations and every worker they seemed to be able to capture.

"These came in early this morning — Abstergo has left the Temple to return to Montreal. As you can see, they've packed up what power cells they could retrieve from the rubble. No sign of Juno." He points to a person in a picture and clicks the mouse pad so that it zooms in, "Standish was present. We're working to identify the other people present too."

"What about Lucy?" Desmond asks. She had never replied to him and he had begun to fear the worst.

"She and her team mate are going to tail them, see if they make any stops to exchange goods or information, and then she'll come back here." 

"And Standish? I mean, he's obviously comfortable working for Abatergo. I know he helped you before but that was a while ago, his loyalties could be more Templar aligned now."

"I agree. We need to get on call with William and Becca soon. See what they make of it, plan our next move." 

"Now?" Desmond almost whines and Shaun rolls his eyes.

"No, they're taking a long lunch. You can take your lazy arse back to bed," he replies and turns to walk downstairs.

"Thank fuck," Desmond mumbles and falls back into bed.

He feels like it's only ten minutes before he wakes up, feeling more than groggy as he struggles to open his eyes. When he finally manages, he jerks out of his skin.

Minerva stands at the foot of his bed. Her apparition is seemingly weak - Desmond can almost see straight through her, her glow less vibrant.

He goes to rub at his face but finds his arm glued to the bed. Strange. He tries to kick the blankets off of his feet to get up but can't move his legs either. Panic rises in his chest and his eyes rapidly flit around the room.

" _Why haven't you found him yet_?" Minerva's soft voice calls.

"What?" Desmond asks, utterly confused by what's happening.

" _She'll get to him first_." 

"She?"

" _She'll get to them all. She'll corrupt them._ "

"Juno?" Desmond asks again, trying to put the pieces together.

" _The Son will collide with the Stars_ ," Minerva warns, her voice louder now, stressing this.

Desmond squeezes his eyes shut and tries to focus on piecing together what she's telling him but nothing makes sense. Was she suggesting a third disaster was to come? No, he had stopped any possibilities of that happening. So what the hell was she speaking about?

There's a ghosting of pressure on his stump and he opens his eyes to see that Minerva has moved from the end of his bed and is now hovering beside him. Her hand is resting upon his stump but he can't feel it, not physically anyway. There's a phantom feeling that makes his hairs stand up on his body. It isn't threatening, Minerva doesn't mean him harm, but he isn't comfortable either at her closeness. Her hold on his stump tightens which causes a searing pain and he wails, but there's no noise.

Minerva pushes at his shoulder and then he's falling backwards with a shout, finally getting movement in his limbs as he flails and tumbles somewhere. He hears a creak as he hits a surface and he gasps. Then he sits upright. 

He's still in bed, the sheets tangled at his legs and he kicks at them. His stump throbs and he goes to grab it but there's a hand on his shoulder. He flinches out of their grip and raises his fist at them, swinging. There's a crunch and then an undignified grunt.

"For fuck sake Desmond! I think you've broken my nose," the person says, albeit it's muffled.

Desmond shakes his hand out and then rubs the length of his stump as though to soothe the pain. Upon another groan, he looks over to see Shaun sitting on the floor against the wall, clutching his nose and glasses snapped in half on his lap.

"Shaun?"

"Yes, Shaun!" he screeches. "Who the hell else would it be!"

Whatever haze that was clouding Desmond's mind had lifted as he fully registers what he had done; he just fucking punched Shaun. And now Shaun's nose was bleeding and his glasses were broken.  _ Shit _ .

Desmond slides off the bed to sit in front of Shaun. He lifts his glasses and sets them on the bedside table, then swats his hands away from his face so that he could cradle his jaw in his, his own pain forgotten about.

There's a long gash on the bridge of his nose from where the bar of his glasses had cut into him, and the cut isn't deep but it's bleeding quite heavily. Next is his actual nose, the blood running from his nostrils and down his lip. 

Desmond quickly collects a bunch of tissue from the bathroom as well as a wet face cloth and runs back to Shaun. He wipes at the blood starting to dry around his nose, then blots at the blood on the bridge. He hands Shaun a tissue for him to press against his nostrils and then he tips his head back.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know it was you. I thought — I dreamt, shit, I don't know," Desmond stammers.

"Des?" 

"I dreamt, at least I think it was a dream, of Minerva. It felt so real; she was right here in my bedroom. I haven't had one since the first time and that was weeks ago, I wasn't expecting it," he rambles. Shaun clicks his fingers in front of his face.

"Focus. What happened?"

"She said that She is going to get to him first, get to them all first. She's going to corrupt them. She never said who She is, my best bet is Juno," he explains and Shaun hums in agreement. "Then she said that the sun is going to collide with the stars."

"Another catastrophe?" 

"That's what I thought. But it couldn't be, right? I mean, we stopped it."

"Yeah but can we really trust the Isu? Juno was lying to us the whole time, it wouldn't surprise me."

"I guess. I just feel like Minerva wouldn't lie. There has to be a reason she's telling me these things, I don't think it's another disaster." 

"It is peculiar. We can tell Rebecca and Bill when we call them, which is what I came to tell you before I was bloody punched," Shaun growls but then he settles down and more quietly says, "I heard you shouting. Thought you were being murdered. You alright?"

"I decked you and you're asking me if I'm okay," Desmond says, bemused. “Minerva gripped my limb, but she didn’t really touch it, y’know? But whatever she did has made it sore,” he grimaces. “Nothing painkillers won't fix.”

He pushes Shaun's hand down from his face and lightly runs the tip of his finger along the bridge of his nose. Shaun hisses when he grazes the cut and he murmurs a soft apology. Thankfully, it isn't broken. There's a gasp as Desmond continues to softly touch the area and he apologises again but Shaun hushes him.

"Desmond … you're glowing."

"Uh, thanks? I think.”

"No you git - you're glowing gold," Shaun says and Desmond feels a finger trace up his stump to his shoulder, across his chest, and then pulling the hand away from his nose, traces down that arm too. Desmond's heart flutters at the feeling of Shaun's hand on his bare chest and he wonders if Shaun can feel it thumping. He follows said finger and sees how those areas are lit up; long streaks of gold follow the pathway of his veins, curving across his skin and branching off to start new lines. They’re faint but they’re there.

Desmond paws at his skin with his hand but he can't touch it, can't feel whatever it is coursing through him, can only see it.

"This is what we saw at the Temple, only it was all over your body. This only stretches across your upper torso," Shaun says, mesmerised by the now fading glow.

"What the fuck," Desmond exclaims. He lifts his gaze back up to Shaun and startles, his stomach in his throat. "What the fuck," he repeats and points at Shaun's nose. "The cut on your nose, it's almost already healed. It's stopped bleeding." 

Shaun furrows his eyebrows and leaps to his feet to look in Desmond's mirror. Surely enough, the slice on his nose is closed over, as though the skin were stitched together. It's still a purple colour and the cut has scabbed over, but for all intents and purposes it has healed. Shaun touches the area in amazement.

And then it hits him.

"Holy shit," he gasps and grabs Desmond's hand and places it over his nose again. Desmond is baffled at the action but doesn't pull away.

His torso begins to faintly glow again. They stand in front of the mirror in awe.

Desmond slowly drops his hand from Shaun's face and his eyes blow wide. The remaining scab has completely disappeared as has the purple tinge. It's as though there was nothing ever there. Desmond is as white as a ghost whereas Shaun looked as though he had reached cloud nine.

"How did I not see it before? God this makes so much sense," Shaun exclaims and he starts pacing about the room with a huge grin on his face.

"Shaun this makes absolutely  _ no _ sense. What just happened?" Desmond says, staring at his hand in horror. Shaun ignores him and skips down the stairs. Desmond stands there dumbfounded and then throws a t-shirt over his head and follows him. He finds him sat at the coffee table, tongue between teeth, and surrounded by a laptop, pens, and paper. Peering over his shoulder, he can see a mess of words and lines and numbers jumbled across the page, Shaun circling certain words and then connecting it to another word. It looks like gibberish.

“When are you gonna tell me what's going on?”

“You have Isu DNA, correct? Nearly 1% if I’m not mistaken. Which means somewhere in that body of yours, there should be a triple DNA sequence.” Desmond just nods along but he’s completely lost and has no idea what point Shaun is trying to make. “And triple DNA sequences allow for advanced biological makeup in comparison to humans, advancements such as healing. Think about it — realistically, you should have died in that Temple, that’s what Minerva and Juno said would happen. But it didn’t and when we found you, you were glowing. At the hospital, you gripped my arm and when I went home that same day, my burn had disappeared. Same with my nose,” he explains.

Desmond slowly begins to piece it together. “Eric had informed me that my white blood cell count was above average, they ran tests for any underlying issues but it came back negative. Another nurse, Amal, said that my limb and shoulder were healing beyond the normal rate,” and he pushes his sleeve up to demonstrate it to Shaun. “The skin graft should be red, purple, wrinkly sorta texture. But it isn’t. It blends in with my skin, the area smooth. The only tell it’s even there is the scarring where it stops and my normal skin begins. My stump too, it isn’t as swollen as it’s expected to be.” Shaun scribbles this all down.

“It still doesn’t make sense. I’ve always had this DNA and I’ve never noticed this ability until now. I’ve never noticed a glow either. So why now?” Desmond asks, eyebrows furrowed. Shaun looks confused too, staring at the page as though the answer is written in plain sight.

“Well,” he begins slowly, “this all seemingly started at the Temple. So it must have to do with what was in there: the Isu? Minerva, perhaps? Truthfully, I don’t know as much about the Isu as I would like; there must be something within their lifestyle, their knowledge, that can explain this.”

“Okay, but the problem is how can we find that information? It’s not just lying about on the internet.”

“True … but there might be something in our databases that I’ve missed. I haven’t read every bit of information in there, nor are they all indented in my brain. I’ll be going through this with a fine tooth comb,” Shaun responds, looking jittery with excitement. “This is huge, Desmond. Absolutely massive. Nothing we’ve ever seen before. And I, well,  _ we  _ discovered it!”

“Yeah, delightful,” Desmond says, a lot less enthusiastic than Shaun. “Are we telling the others?”

Shaun bites his lip, “I don’t think we should. Not now at least. They already have a lot on their plates, I think we should work on this ourselves.” He opens his mouth but closes it again then looks away. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t trust Bill with it. He’d start experimenting on you for God’s sakes, you’d become a science experiment.” Desmond scoffs at that but doesn’t disagree.

The clock on the wall chimes to signal the start of a new hour; it’s 11 o’clock which means he has just enough time to shower and exercise before they’re due to call the team, and before Samir arrives for his occupational therapy.

Desmond has been making strides in his therapy sessions — he is able to move each individual joint, finger to elbow, mostly without problem. There are times when he can get confused and fumble; he forgets that the key is to be natural, to not focus so hard on moving certain joints, and so he accidentally moves the wrong target joint. These instances are rare though, only happening when he is practising with it before he properly dons it for the day. Speaking of, he can now wear the prosthetic for an hour and a half each day. He’s become used to the weight of it though it’s still strange to look down and see the prosthetic arm, but not  _ feel  _ it as though it’s his own arm. However, the weight makes his shoulder slant downwards at an angle. It isn’t noticeable to outsiders, Shaun hadn’t noticed until he pointed it out, but when he looks at himself in the mirror, Desmond can see how it pulls him down and it makes him self conscious, has him constantly checking his posture.

Still, Samir had affirmed that he was excelling with every new task he was given and now he was ready to begin learning how to grip objects, to pick them up and set them down. Sure he had been able to hold a light pen between two fingers, but that was different from the likes of a breakable plate, or a heavy book. 

He had also gotten accustomed to working with the limbs that he had. Finally, he had perfected the technique with which to put clothes on (including hoodies) and he could button up shirts as fast as he could with two hands, as well as tie his laces. The former had taken countless replays of the same youtube video and a lot of swearing and groaning when a lace slipped out of his hand, but he persevered. Using his left dominant hand was like trying to learn to walk again - he knew what he should be doing but couldn't do it. It was beyond frustrating. He was currently learning to write again, scribbling a different paragraph from wikipedia every day. The scrawl became more neat and it took less time each try. Sometimes, Desmond felt a little humiliated and carried this activity out in his room away from Shaun's eyes, but when Shaun caught him doing it at the kitchen table one evening, he had said nothing, only corrected his hold on the pencil and walked back out.

Desmond was building up to the idea of wearing the prosthetic out for lunch a day. He knew integration back into society was vital, but the thought of people staring at him made him anxious. Desmond was an average person - he had an average face, average hair, average clothes. No one took notice of him and he preferred it that way. But that would change upon wearing the appendage out; people would stare, wonder what happened, whisper about him. He wasn't sure if he was ready for all that unwanted attention yet but he would have to become desensitized to it if he truly wanted to be comfortable in public.

Despite the amazing progress he was making physically, there was still a lot of mental progress to be done to allow him to feel at home in his own skin, no matter where he finds himself.

* * *

William and Rebecca ring shortly after 12:15. Rebecca is sitting in front of some trees with sunglasses and a cap on, sipping a cup of coffee. She couldn't look less inconspicuous if she tried. William is in his car, laptop presumably balanced on the dashboard.

"Any updates from Lucy?" Shaun asks first.

"As of an hour ago they crossed the border and passed through our location. There were no stops or drop offs of equipment, they're going straight to the Entertainment headquarters. There's a hotel straight across from the building, I've booked them in for when they finally arrive. She'll check in once they make it there," William answers. "Have you all taken a good look at those photos?"

"What use are the power cells? We were sure they only power the Temple, they have no other use," Rebecca says.

"That doesn't mean they can't take them apart, try and see how they work. Use them for their own benefit if they can," Shaun grumbles. He has the pictures pulled up on a separate tab. "They weren't glowing when we last left the Temple though."

"Could just be the light reflecting off of them," Desmond suggests but Shaun doesn't look too convinced.

"What was Standish's part in all of this? He looked comfortable down there," Shaun says, ready to voice his concerns.

"Unsure, I'm waiting on Lucy to get back to me on what his role was. If he was there though, then he likely knows what they're doing with those cells and we can use that to our advantage. Infiltrating the headquarters is becoming a likely plan," William responds.

"You don't think he could possibly be on Abstergo's side?" Shaun asks distraught.

"That's why we infiltrate. Figure out where he stands before we ask for his help." 

"Then shouldn't we start soon? Like now?" Desmond finally speaks up.

"We have. Rebecca and Shaun I've applied for two positions in your name," William says. Rebecca furrows her brows and Shaun's jaw opens and closes like he doesn't know what to say. "They're simple jobs; Rebecca you'll be a courier and Shaun you'll be working at a coffee stand. No interviews needed and I've made sure that there are minimal other candidates," he says.  _ So he threatened them _ , Desmond thinks.

"When were you going to tell us?" Shaun fumes. "I didn't offer to do that." Rebecca nods along with him.

"Well I was going to tell you when you got the job so you can't pull out, like you're trying to do right now. You're the only two who can. They'll know Lucy, Desmond and I. Look it'll be fine. The job begins on the 17th and I'm sure that it'll be secured for you both."

"17th? I haven't put my notice in," Rebecca says at the same time that Shaun protests, "What about Desmond?"

"I've already cleared it with your manager," William says to Rebecca and her face darkens. "As for Desmond, well that's up to him. You can stay in Waterford alone or you can move up to Montreal with all of us." 

"No wonder my co-workers have been so happy this week," Rebecca mutters under her breath. William ignores her.

"Desmond, I'll need your decision soon. Before the 16th at least, that's when I want you all up here."

"And we don't have a say in this?" Shaun scoffs and receives a glare from William.

"I'll think about it," Desmond answers quietly. "I actually have another thing to share with you both," he says and Shaun whips his head around in alarm. "I had another dream, or vision, I don't know what they are, of Minerva." He relaxes as Desmond recites to them what she had said. Rebecca and William ponder over it.

"What if it isn't the sun like you think. What if it's the person she told you about, The Son?" Rebecca says.

"I never thought of it like that," Desmond replies honestly. "But that makes less sense. How can a person collide with the stars?"

"Maybe … it isn't literal. The stars could represent something; a mural, a sign, a place?"

"I suppose," he frowns, still unsure.

"Regardless, I don't think we should prioritise whatever this is. Juno and Abstergo come first, keep this to your free time. For all we know it could be nothing," William affirms. Desmond knows he isn't crazy, knows there is importance in what Minerva is telling him. He won't let the discouragement of his father put him off.

There's a ping somewhere on the line. "Lucy has made it to the hotel. She wants to join the call," William announces and a few seconds later another screen loads up with Lucy in it.

"Hey! It's great to see you all again," she says with a wave and a smile. She looks exhausted, her hair tied back into a high bun and her face naked and pale. Desmond can't blame her, she's been doing more work than the four of them have, staying up and watching the Temple day in and day out for developments, no matter how slight.

"How are you?" Desmond asks, perking up at her presence. Even Shaun looks relieved to see her.

"I'm ready to go into a coma if I'm honest," she answers with a stifled yawn. "We staked out for over a week; it wasn't worth it for the payout." 

"The pictures you sent are going to help us a lot," William reassures her. "And there are still things you have to tell us: conversations you overheard, names, plans, things like that."

"I have all that written down in my notepad," she says, waving a tiny flip book at the screen. "You want it now?"

William checks his watch and shakes his head, "No, save it for later. My lunch break is nearly up. Tell us though, did you get much on Standish's involvement?"

She flips through the book, scanning the pages with a finger and then she stops. "Yeah, I wrote here that he talked to himself a lot. I thought maybe it was an earpiece? But he was never wearing any, not that we could see anyway. We didn't pick up any real bits of conversation, he did seem stressed though. He waved his hands a lot. And he was always around the power cells, he never let them out of his sight." 

William nods, "great work Lucy. We'll call again later." His screen disappears.

"I have to go too," Rebecca sighs. She looks a lot less happy at the end of the call than she did at the beginning. "See you guys later," and she ends the call.

"Is Becs okay?" Lucy asks.

"Um, she'll be fine. Her work is draining her I think, her colleagues kinda suck," Desmond lies.

Lucy doesn't notice, her tiredness getting to her, and she just nods. "How are you two? Desmond you look great, a big difference from how you looked in the hospital. Is recovery going well?"

"Amazing! I'm feeling good and I'm making a lot of progress," he replies and she grins and does a tiny clap for him.

"I'm so happy to hear! Shaun, I hope you're playing nice." 

"I always play nice," he scowls. Desmond shoots him a concerned glance and shrugs apologetically to Lucy who seems a little surprised by his attitude. 

"Hey, we should go. I have therapy soon and you look like you need lots of sleep," Desmond jokes and Lucy perks up, Shaun forgotten about, and laughs.

"Tell me about it. Good luck with therapy, I'll catch you both later," she waves and ends the call. Desmond shuts the laptop.

Shaun gets up and storms into the kitchen, flicking the kettle on. Desmond follows cautiously, like he's trying to corner a feral cat. He waits for Shaun to say something first. Eventually, he explodes.

"William Miles is a God damn arsehole, you know that? A fucking prick. Are we not supposed to be a team? So why does he make his own decisions without running it by us?" Desmond doesn't point out the hypocrisy of that sentence in regards to their conversation about his supposed healing abilities. " I have absolutely no problem infiltrating Abstergo, I mean, I think it's a not very well thought out idea, but I'll do it. I don't see why he had to go behind Rebecca and I's backs to do so." He storms around the kitchen, slamming cupboards closed and setting his mug down forcefully. He leans against the counters fuming.

"I think it's because he has a close relationship with us, he assumes we'll go along with his plan no matter how extreme because we've stuck with him for so long. It isn't the right way to go about it, but it's done now," Desmond reasons. "He was never very good at communication." Shaun huffs.

"Do you want a cup?" 

"No, thank you. Samir should be arriving in five minutes so I should go get ready."

"Do you think you're going to go to Montreal?"

Desmond sighs and rests the back of his head on the wall. "I haven't made my mind up. I want to focus on my rehabilitation more than Abstergo. If I have to stay here to do so, then I will. Even if it's extremely lonely," he smiles softly at Shaun.

Shaun chews his lip and turns away from Desmond. "I wish I could stay with you."

It's said so silently, Desmond almost doesn't hear it. But he does. And it makes his breath stop in his chest. It's such a simple sentence and if said by anyone else, Desmond wouldn't think twice. This was Shaun. Shaun who didn't speak to him for weeks when he first arrived at the compound, Shaun who took every chance he could get to avoid Desmond, Shaun who not even three weeks ago had expressed his distaste at having to stay with Desmond. And now he said he  _ wanted _ to stay with him.

Desmond had a serious case of whiplash … and love sickness.

"Yeah?" he asks breathily.

"Yeah," Shaun answers.

Desmond leaves the kitchen to go don his prosthetic for Samir's arrival, a goofy smile plastered on his face. It's the first thing Samir comments on when he sees Desmond and Desmond flushes.

Samir lines up multiple objects on the coffee table: a thick reading book, a smaller reading book, a tumbler, and lastly, an old phone. "For each of these I'm going to place them in the palm of the hand and let you feel the weight of the object. Then I'm going to set them on the table and I want you to pick each one up and hold them, maybe even walk about with them if you feel up to that. We'll start small and work our way up." 

Desmond holds the tumbler in his hand, wrapping his hand under the bottom to keep it from toppling off. It's light; empty and made of a cheap plastic material. Samir sets it back onto the table and gestures for Desmond to pick it up as though he was going to drink from it. He wraps his hand around the body but once he's secured it, he let's go and it drops and rolls on the table.

"You have to keep tense. Even though you have it in your hands and feel you can relax, don't because that will relax the whole hand and it will drop. Try again." Desmond does it right this time, tensing and keeping it in his hand. "Now stand and walk a lap of the room." Desmond stands slowly and proceeds to walk slowly around the room. "I know you want to be careful with the cup because it's your first time doing this, but realistically you don't walk this slow. When you walk naturally you're relaxed, but you can't be relaxed, right? That's what makes it a challenge. Go again, this time pick up your speed."

Desmond takes this all in, not confident that he can do it. He makes a few steps before it slips from his hand and he has to catch it in his other. It's hard to understand how to be relaxed yet tense at the same time, his brain pulling him in two different directions. The sound of the cup hitting the ground is starting to grate on his nerves and Samir takes notice of his changing mood.

"Harder than expected? How about this, walk around the room without the cup and keep your left arm tense. You don't have to worry about a cup in your hand, you just have to walk." He takes the cup out of his hands and Desmond does just that, keeping his left arm in front of him and tensed. There's no pressure on him and so he's able to keep it tense the whole lap. When he tries again with the cup and prosthetic, he successfully makes it around without dropping it and Samir cheers. Now with the technique down, he makes a few more laps, picking up the speed each turn until he's speed walking.

He repeats the same process with the small book just as successfully. The larger book is a little harder due to its weight and it slips from his fingers. He has to adjust his hold on it multiple times until he finally finds a placement that allows him to securely carry the book with one hand. Once he finds that position, it becomes just as easy as the last two objects.

The phone is slightly more complicated - he rests three fingers on the back, his thumb on the screen and his pinky on the bottom. The metals slide against each other, the phone not sticking to the heat of his hand like it does using his left hand. He can hold it in front of his face securely, but to raise it up above his head or to his ear like he's talking a call is a little more risky because it involves moving more than one limb. He walks around the room whilst moving the phone into those three positions. He reverts back to his slow walk, not trusting himself to go any faster. Samir doesn't correct him like last time, instead allowing him to move at a pace he prefers because of the difficulty of this particular task.

"You're doing well, don't be put out if you can't get it first try. It means you have a goal to work towards for the next few days. I have one last thing to try with you in regards to the phone: texting. I assume you've been using your left hand to do this with no problem, but it's a good skill to know. It can be applied to typing on a keyboard too as it's all about controlling the strength with which you enforce on the fingers." 

Desmond sits and holds the phone, both hands wrapped around the back with the thumbs working the screen. Unlike his own phone which is a touch screen, this phone has buttons with which he has to press multiple times to get the correct letter. It's very early 2000s; thank God for technological developments. He hovers the prosthetic thumb over the keys and presses. It works to an extent, meaning that he hit the key but it also pressed the key beside it too and made a collection of jumbled letters appear on screen. 

"Use the tip of your thumb as opposed to the pad. It will be more accurate." 

Desmond bends his thumb so that the tip (where the top of the nail would be) would be on the key and presses and only the targeted key is pressed. Desmond presses the key twice to get to the next letter then starts typing a basic sentence. There are a few slips wherein the key next to it is pushed but it's an almost perfect sentence. He tries a new sentence and this time there are fewer mistakes. 

They work through each activity again making it their longest session yet and Desmond is a little worn out after it. But he has one last thing to do.

"I know you mentioned previously that you travel for your work but how far are you willing to go?"

"Well the furthest I have been is Albany which is two hours from Turin, which is where I'm based as you know. It's quite the journey but I've been in touch with the client for over a year now - she originally lived in Turin. I don't like to leave my clients if I'm with them for that long; they get used to certain teaching techniques. Plus it's only a few trips a year, it isn't frequent." 

Desmond frowns. It doesn't seem likely that he would travel to Montreal. "How much more sessions do you think it would take for me to be ready to finish?" 

"Usually rehabilitation can take a minimum of six months. You are progressing at a rather rapid rate however, it's astonishing. If I had to estimate, I'd say another month or two would finish you off. After which we can begin fitting you for your own prosthetic."

Shit. He doesn't have that much time to wait. He isn't allowed in the field but that doesn't mean he's completely useless; he needs to be in Montreal as soon as he can be. Samir notices the distress written on his face. "Is everything alright Desmond? Are these sessions not to your satisfaction?"

"No! I mean, yes. They're great! But I've received some news recently and I'm required in Montreal as soon as I can possibly make it. I guess I was hoping that the process would be over quicker than that." 

Samir looks thoughtful and lifts a planner out from his satchel. "When's the latest you can stay here until?"

Desmond looks over Samir's shoulder at his planner and runs his finger down the dates. "The 27th. If I had to push it, I would say the 1st of February." 

Samir sucks in a breath. "Let me see what I can do. I don't think travelling that far will suit as I have other clients after you but I could fit you in for more sessions. Currently we do a session once a day every two days. If it's possible, how about two sessions in a day, and the next day one, then two the next day and so on. It isn't ideal as it can be quite taxing on you but you're dedicated and strong and I think you can handle it."

"That sounds … amazing. If you could do that I would be forever grateful. Not that I'm not right now of course but it would be a real help." Desmond lights up: this could be the perfect plan.

"I'll get back to you with times. I only have one other client so it shouldn't be too difficult to do so. If it isn't possible, I can give you contact details of therapists in Montreal who I highly recommend, as sad as it would be to let you go," Samir smiles. "Is that everything?" 

"Yeah, I think so. Thank you so much for doing this, you've no idea what it means to me," Desmond says and he really means it. His team is important to him but so is his own recovery. And he needs this recovery so that he can get back into the field as soon as possible. He wanted to be an assassin again.

They shake hands as Samir leaves and after taking the prosthetic off, Desmond throws himself onto the sofa in relief then switches the TV on. Shaun comes down the stairs and raises an eyebrow at him. "Good session?"

Desmond explains Samir's plan to him excitedly but even though Shaun smiles and nods, Desmond can see there's something bothering him. 

"So you're not coming with us?" 

Ah. 

"I think I'm going to be here for the next two weeks. It might be the start of February before I meet up with you all again. I thought you would be glad to get rid of me anyway, it’s not like you love me" Desmond responds and pokes Shaun's cheek. He doesn't move to bat him away. nor does he respond, he just stares at Desmond's hand and grinds his teeth.

"You’re right; I am and I don’t. Forget anything I said," he mutters and pushes himself off of the sofa, leaving Desmond completely baffled by the reaction. He moves to follow him but he's up the stairs and the door of his room is closed before he could even reach the first step.

Desmond is an idiot.

* * *

When the team calls after dinner, Shaun and Desmond barely talk. Instead of sitting shoulder to shoulder in the center of the sofa, they sit on either side, completely removed from one another. If anyone notices they don't mention it. 

Lucy flips through her file block and reads word for word what she had written. She had caught the names of multiple workers and was able to identify them in the pictures she had taken, which made Rebecca's job of tracking the others down a lot easier. Something that had particularly caught their attention was the repeated use of the phrase 'Sample Project'.

"From what I could gather, they're going to be collecting samples from humans in order to further research. Research of what I'm not sure. But … I think they wanted to start with Desmond," Lucy says slowly. Desmond sees Shaun stiffen in his peripheral but he doesn't look at him.

"You're sure about that?" William asks.

"Almost positive. One of the first things I heard them say once they emerged from the Temple for the first time was in regards to him: "17 is gone." 

Desmond contains a shudder. He hadn't been referred to as a number in so long … he forgot he was supposed to be an expendable experiment. 

"They spoke about him a lot actually: 'What will we do without 17?', 'Who else do we know other than 17?' Whatever they wanted with you sounded pretty important," she says.

"But why me?" Desmond asks.

"I wish I could tell you. That's all I got on that subject," she shrugs apologetically.

"Do they know if he's alive?" William asks. 

"I'm not sure. You think Desmond could be in trouble?" 

"They wanted Desmond and they didn't get him. If they know he's alive, they could come after him. We might have to consider you a risk," William says to Desmond.

"So what do we do?" Desmond asks.

"Are you staying in Waterford?" He nods. "Then Lucy can go down there and stay with you after Shaun leaves. You can come to us when you're ready." 

"Sounds good," Lucy says and Desmond nods again.

"Shaun and Rebecca, I'll brief you on your task before you start work at Abstergo but this new project is of our interest so on top of looking for Juno I want you to be looking into this as well." Rebecca, who is already sitting beside him, doesn't say anything. Neither does Shaun. 

They end the call soon after that and Shaun almost runs back to his room before Desmond can get a word in. He takes his phone out.

**DM** : Shaun is acting weird _(18:13)_

**RC** : shaun is always weird _(18:14)_

**DM** : He won't speak to me. Or look at me. Or sit in the same room with me _(18.16)_

**RC** : i guess that is weird actually. what did you do? _(18:18)_

**DM** : Why do you think I done something? _(18:18)_

The last thing we spoke about was me staying here _(18.19)_

**RC** : that gives me nothing im going to need exact words to sleuth this out _(18:20)_

**DM** : He asked if I was going and I said yeah and that it would be two weeks before he sees me again. I said I thought you would be glad to get rid of me because it’s not like he loves me and then he looked angry and said to forget he said anything _(18:24)_

**RC** : you’re so goddamn stupid _(18:25)_

**DM** : ?? _(18:25)_

**RC** : did you talk about anything before that? _(18:26)_

**DM** : Earlier he said that he wanted to stay with me _(18:27)_

**RC** : oh desmond, desmond, desmond. _(18:30)_

**DM** : What? _(18:33)_

**RC** : read between the lines!! shaun basically told you he had feelings for you!! _(18:35)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's all the drama mick! i just love it


	9. 15th January

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> desmond makes it up to shaun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:)

Shaun had holed himself up in his room for the following two days, only coming down to take his dinner upstairs. He wouldn't look at Desmond, would walk out of the room if Desmond walked in and most definitely wouldn't talk to Desmond. The apartment was lifeless without their usual chat and Shaun was like a ghost; Desmond could sense him in the room but when he turned to look he was gone without a trace. Desmond missed him and he wasn’t even gone.

He had read Rebecca's message a thousand times over — how could Shaun have feelings for  _ him _ ? And how was he so blind that he didn’t notice? 

Desmond had grilled Rebecca, completely clueless as to what he said that had upset Shaun. Rebecca had called him a dumbass in various ways, some extremely creative, as she explained it to him — though she did complain about how men never seem to know what they’ve done wrong because they’re  _ “so thick in the head they can’t see who they’re hurting around them” _ ; there is definitely a story there, a bad breakup or otherwise. But she had given Desmond the benefit of the doubt because Shaun was just as useless. She remarked that together they were still a few cents short of a nickel.

From what he had gathered, Shaun believed Desmond knew about his feelings and had used them against him to mock him. Desmond felt like a right tit. It couldn’t be any further from the truth. Morning and night, Shaun was all he had thought about for nearly four months. Shaun’s reluctance to talk to him had made it a game for Desmond and along the way, he had caught feelings for the man, thriving off of his reactions towards Desmond. Trust him to fall for someone who would never take notice of him. 

Until now, apparently.

And Desmond may have already fucked it up.

It was Shaun’s stubbornness that had pulled Desmond towards him in the first place — it was entertaining to him to annoy Shaun as much as he could, to see how far he could push the man before he finally snapped. But it was that stubbornness that was currently hindering Desmond because Shaun wouldn’t even acknowledge him and all he wanted to do was sort this out because they only had one day left together before Shaun left for Montreal and Desmond knew he had to act now or else the friendship they had forged with each other would go to shit and they’d be back to being strangers instead of moving forward and becoming something more.

And oh how Desmond yearned for them to be something more.

So, Desmond made him pancakes for breakfast, accompanied by syrup, strawberries, bananas, and tea. Midway through baking them, he began to slightly regret it as doing it one handed was not a simple task; trying to mix the batter had resulted in it flying out of the bowl and on to his top and he had burnt his hand on the stove trying to both flip and lift them off the plate at the same time. Thankfully, the house didn’t go up in flames and he carefully slid the pancakes onto the plate. Instead of making Shaun come downstairs to eat, he brought it up on a tray to his bedroom, moving slowly to keep the tray from toppling over. The door is slightly open but he raps anyway with his foot and when Shaun doesn’t answer, he timidly pushes it open. Shaun is sitting cross legged on his bed, laptop on his lap and an earpiece and mic connected to it. He’s listing off directions and instructions for whom Desmond assumes is a team out in the field. He falls silent when Desmond enters and peers at the tray. He stutters out a quiet ‘thank you’ and Desmond walks out without a word, shutting the door behind him. He hears the sound of the mug and plate clinking and smiles to himself.

He continues as normal with his own daily routine as he waits for Samir to arrive. Thankfully, they were able to go through with his proposed plan so now Desmond alternated between two sessions a day and one session the next. It meant that he was more worn out than usual, his muscles fatigued and his stump a little painful (though fortunately, not irritated) so he took more naps throughout the day and opted for a muscle soak bath as opposed to a shower. It had all helped keep Shaun off of his mind for a bit but after he had finished, the thoughts of him just came rushing back.

After his therapy, Desmond lies on the sofa and thinks of things to do with Shaun. He wants to coax him out of his shell before he brings up the conversation about ‘them’. If there is even going to be a ‘them’. Plus, how do you actually go about such a conversation?  _ Hey, you like me and I like you back so lets hook up. _

Rebecca was no help either — she said be subtle because Shaun didn’t like big shows of affection but also be bold and confident because he was also kind of thick when it came to reading people and that’s why he had yet to realise that Desmond felt the same way even though Desmond had moon eyes every time he walked into a room. Desmond felt affronted at that; surely he wasn’t that obvious? Regardless, he was in a bit of a pickle.

Pulling up Google, he searched  _ first date ideas.  _ It wasn’t like he hadn’t had a first date, he had just never had a  _ proper  _ first date; where you meet up after talking for a while and spend the date getting to know each other and laughing together and then ending it with a timid kiss. Desmond’s dates involved meeting them at the bar whilst he was at work and once off the clock, taking them back to his flat for a quick shag.

But they were nothing to him. And Shaun wasn’t nothing. Shaun was everything. So he had to do this right.

The search results suggested taking them to the cinema and dinner, taking them to a cafe, go bowling, or go golfing. They all seemed pretty bleh until one suggestion caught his eye: take them to the museum or an art gallery. Shaun loved museums of any type, this would surely warm him up. He checked Google maps and found three museums in their area; part B of his plan was in motion.

He raps on Shaun’s door and pushes it open. The laptop has been pushed to the side and has been replaced by a book. He doesn’t look up from it.

“It’s your last day here so I planned something for us to do. And you can’t say no because I booked in advance and the deposit was $30,” Desmond lies. Shaun looks angry for a split second before his face falls blank again. He slips a bookmark into his book and sets it aside.

“What is it?”

“Museum trip. Three to be precise.”

“ _ You _ want to go to museums?” Shaun asks.

“Yeah. But you want to go more,” Desmond says. “Or I could go by myself and learn all about the history of this place and the science behind … sciency things.” He winces at his poor persuasion techniques but his attempt seems to work because Shaun hauls himself out of bed and pushes past Desmond.

“Fine. Get in the car.”

The car ride is uncomfortable but Desmond tries his best to pretend that it isn’t — he hums and sings along with the radio, makes short quips about the news and weather, and offers Shaun a biscuit from the packet he’s currently munching on. When they arrive at the science museum, Shaun walks behind him instead of beside him. Desmond feels him staring at his back and suppresses a shiver. Once they’ve paid in, Desmond falls back beside Shaun and tries to stay beside him as much as possible, ignoring Shaun shooting him suspicious glances.

They make their way around the museum slowly, Desmond stopping at every exhibit and trying to coax Shaun into talking about it by asking simple questions. Shaun gets more and more exasperated with each question asked and eventually stops answering them. Desmond doesn’t mind because at least they’re talking. The museum is filled with parents and their children and Desmond comes to the conclusion that this museum wasn’t exactly made for adults (who happen to be using it to court their friend). They reach an interactive center where kids are wearing lab goggles and lab coats and being shown experiments by staff dressed in the same attire. Desmond has an idea. He walks up to a less busy table where a man is encouraging the children to make their own exploding volcano. 

“Shaun, this is the experiment I did at school that you said you had never done before!” he lies and Shaun looks utterly confused.

“You didn’t go —” but Shaun is cut off by the man. 

“Well we can’t have that, can we kids?” he says and the children all yell a chorus of ‘no!’

Shaun catches on quickly to what Desmond is doing and turns to the man to protest but he’s placing goggles over Shaun’s glasses and throwing a lab coat over his shoulder before he can say anything. Desmond thinks that if Shaun wasn’t a history buff or an assassin, he would certainly make a good lab rat  — the shirt and jumper combo under the coat made him look the part, as did the rough blond hair and square glasses. 

The children are all looking at him, excited to have another member join their team so instead of cursing Desmond out like he wants to, he plasters on a thin smile and starts following the man’s instructions. The worker’s voice is high and cheery and he uses his hands to make big excessive movements that make the children laugh but he can tell the man’s confident demeanor is grating on Shaun’s nerves. Desmond stands behind Shaun and looks over his shoulder, watching as he places the substances into a paper made volcano. Shaun tenses at his closeness but reluctantly relaxes when he realises that Desmond isn’t going to be moving anytime soon. 

The kids all cheer as their volcanoes erupt over the table and Desmond lifts Shaun’s arm up in victory and shakes him about. Shaun rolls his eyes but there is definitely the hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Once they’re back in the car, Shaun asks “did you know that that was a children’s museum and we were literally the only adults there except for the workers? Or are you daft and didn’t check the reviews?"

Desmond rubs his neck sheepishly, hoping that Shaun didn’t notice, “I didn’t check the reviews but hey, We had good fun right?” Shaun grumbles and drives to the next museum.

This one recounted the history of Jacksonville and Desmond doesn’t think he couldn’t be more bored if he tried. It’s nothing like learning the history of Altair’s Masyaf, Ezio’s Italy or Ratonhnhake:ton’s America — that was history he had experienced, had gained wounds from as though he lived through it personally, and had visited even when he was no longer locked in the animus thanks to the bleeding effect.

He trails after Shaun, dragging his feet behind him and sighing as they move through the exhibits. It showcased the clothing, the tools used in work, and the history of the most significant families who had made a living in the town. Shaun took the time to read each display and article, and nodded along eagerly with the tour guide. He elbowed Desmond every time he sighed and berated him for being disrespectful. To annoy him, Desmond began to fake laugh and make sarcastic quips to the other visitors who had the same reaction as Shaun; walked away and pretended they didn’t hear him.

The last museum was right up Desmond’s street and the one he had been looking forward to the most: wildlife and nature. They skipped the plant stuff; Desmond thought learning about the Calvin cycle was possibly more boring than the last museum. Instead, he wanted to check out the dinosaur statues they had displayed as well as the extinct animal statues. He gawked at the size of the bones from shark teeth and moose horns and cooed at the much smaller taxidermied foxes and penguins. Anytime he saw an unattractive animal, such as the pictured blobfish or taxidermied star nosed mole, he pointed to them and said “that’s you,” to Shaun who had mocked his laugh and shoved him into the nearest wall. They got weird looks from passing families who either laughed at them or pulled their kids away. Shaun went red with shame.

When they reach the car, they sit in the parking lot for a few minutes, legs tired after all the walking. Unlike when they first left the house, there is a more relaxed feeling as Shaun has slowly begun to ease up. They sit there for so long that Desmond thinks he could fall asleep right there but he has one last stop planned for them; whilst Shaun had been pondering around the exhibits at the Jacksonville museum, Desmond had been googling _picking the perfect dinner spot_ _for a date_. An entry from a couple had caught his eye, saying _“my husband took me back to the spot of our first date and proposed there. It was such a nice thought and now it’s our favourite place to eat as it holds so much sentimental value!”_ Now, Desmond wasn’t planning to propose, nor did that restaurant have any special meaning to them, but it is where they first went out to eat together and that was better than nothing.

Desmond had booked ahead and asked for the table number that they had the last time, complete with candles and a vase of flowers. It was cheesy as hell and Shaun had looked at the objects like they had personally offended him but Desmond just remarked how nice they smelled as he ordered the same meals from last time. Once the waitress leaves, a silence begins to seep in so Desmond speaks first in order to prevent it.

“Did you like the museums? I thought they would be your thing, history nerd and all, thought it was a fitting way to end your stay.”

“Museums aren’t actually my thing — a lot of their information is inaccurate or outdated and many artifacts have been stolen from their country of origin. You’d be surprised to know that art pieces are sometimes dupes and not the real thing.”

Desmond is crestfallen at that but he supposes it was his fault for thinking Shaun was just the average person who had never second guessed the exhibits in museums. 

“The thought was there though and I appreciate you thinking of me. They weren’t so bad anyway and at least I know that I could always join the science career,” Shaun adds with a shrug and a tiny smile. The conversation becomes stilted again. Neither want to acknowledge the prominent elephant in the room; Shaun had been avoiding Desmond and both of them knew it.

Their food arrives but Desmond doesn’t feel like eating. His heart is doing somersaults and he wonders if Shaun can see it beating out of his chest. He’s so fucking nervous to ask Shaun about his feelings. He might actually be sick. He pushes the food around on his plate and tries to make it look like he’s eating, making a hole in the center of the plate. Before he can overthink anymore, he speaks up.

“So what time do you leave tomorrow?”

“I’m hoping before ten.”

“Oh, why so early? Don’t you want to stick around?”

“I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to,” Shaun replies and his tone has become sour very quickly. It gives Desmond whiplash because of how different it is from the polite tone he had been using all day. He tries to avoid the outburst he can tell is coming.

“I am gonna miss you, you know. I like having you around, I always have.”

“Really? Because from where I’m standing you don’t. And you’re trying to pin it on me because  _ ooh Shaun’s so heartless so I’ll just make him believe that it’s him who wants to get away from me. _ Well you’re wrong,” he spits and drops his fork down on the plate with a clatter. Well, that didn’t work.

“Shaun?”

“No. I talk and you listen. I don’t know what Rebecca told you about me but I want you to forget whatever it was she said. Because I will not have you pitying me for my feelings towards you. Throwing them back in my face like you did the other night, trying to make a fool of me. Do you think I don’t know that I’m completely foolish to have fallen for you?”

“I didn’t — “

“And what’s all this? Breakfast in bed, taking me to museums, and now dinner? Some elaborate show to embarrass me for when you inevitably let me down easy? I won’t let you do that to me. This,” he says, gesturing between the two of them, “isn’t going to happen. I am not about to let myself be played by someone like you.”

_ That  _ makes Desmond react. “Someone like me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He’s seething, his nostrils flaring and his lip upturned into a snarl.

“Excuse me? I’m going to have to ask you both to leave,” comes a hushed voice beside them and they peer up to see the manager standing there with a stern look on his face. They had both completely forgotten where they were and they look around to find the restaurant silent with numerous tables glaring at them. Shaun pushes his chair back with a screech and storms out, the door slamming beside him. Desmond hands the manager a wad of money and follows him out. He runs up to Shaun and pulls roughly on his arm to get him to face him.

“C’mon Shaun. What kind of person am I? Am I not good enough for you? Am I too much of this and too little of that?” he half growls, half laughs. This is not how this night was supposed to go but if Shaun wants to do this then they’re doing it.

“I know your type; you flirt with anything that moves, sleep with anything with a pulse only to leave them the next morning alone, you leave people heartbroken in your wake because you’re so damn charismatic and confident that everyone loves you, everyone wants to be with you. I’ve been with your type before and I cannot experience that type of hurt again because it destroyed me,” Shaun yells, getting in Desmond’s face and shoving a finger at his chest. His hand knots in Desmond’s t-shirt as he balls his hand into a fist. Desmond grabs it and pulls it away, pointing an accusing finger back at him.

“Then you don’t know me at all because that is  _ not  _ me. The fact that that is how you percieve me makes me feel like fucking shit. And I am sorry for whatever they did to you, I really am, but you can’t base me off of a stereotype,” he snarls back, towering over Shaun. They stand nearly nose to nose and glare at each other. Looking into Shaun’s eyes, Desmond can see the unreserved fury, the determination to fight. But he can also see the pain and hurt underneath it all, the instinct to lash out in order to protect himself. Suddenly, all the fight slips from Desmond’s body and he feels exhausted. This isn’t what he wants, he never thought it would lead to this. He drops his hands to his side and takes a step back. “Even if I was that person, I would never, ever, hurt you Shaun. And I will stand by that,” he says firmly. 

“But you already have,” Shaun whispers and Desmond’s heart shatters because that is the last thing he ever wanted to hear come from Shaun. Shaun wraps his arms around himself as he stares up at Desmond, his eyes glassy. Desmond wants to shoot himself in the foot or let the ground swallow him whole. He feels like he’s about to be sick all over the tarmac, the guilt eating him from the inside. He’s hurt the person he cares about the most. When Shaun realises that he isn’t going to get a response, he sighs, breath coming out as a white vapour in the air, and starts walking the rest of the distance to the car.

Desmond’s brain takes a while to catch up with him. He stands there gaping at Shaun’s back, rendered speechless by his words. It can’t end like this. He can’t just let Shaun slip through his fingers like that. Not when they’re so close. He runs to catch up with Shaun and shuts the driver door before he can get in, trapping Shaun between the car and his body. Shaun’s cheeks and nose is pink from the cold and his teeth are beginning to chatter. Despite his vulnerable position, he scowls at Desmond, his mouth turned up in a sneer as he begins to spit something out but Desmond rushes to get something in first.

“I would never purposely hurt anyone, especially not you. What I said, that wasn’t me throwing your feelings back at you. In fact, I never even knew that you had confessed in the first place because Shaun, there’s subtle and then there is whatever the hell you went for which was subtle times like one thousand,” he teases. Shaun’s mouth falls into a thin line. “Trust me when I say that I would never reject or mock you,” Desmond says seriously, the smile gone from his face. “I would walk to the ends of the Earth just to make sure you know that, and for you to know how important you are to me.”

Shaun considers his words, looking for something in Desmond’s face. He must find whatever it was he was looking for because he pleads then, “I don’t need you to do that. I just need you to tell me.”

“I can do you one better and show you,” is Desmond’s response and his eyes glance across Shaun’s lips.

“Then do it,” Shaun says, the challenge weaving back into his voice. He takes Desmond’s hand from where it rests on the hood of the car and lifts it to his face, nudging his cheek into his palm, a dare in his eyes as though he’s saying  _ you don’t really want this but please for the love of god prove me wrong _ . Desmond looks at him in amazement, like he holds all the secrets to the universe in that head of his and trails his hand down to softly clasp his jaw. His hand is trembling, in disbelief that this is happening. He nods jerkily and dips his head.

The millisecond his lips touch Shauns, Shaun opens his mouth for him and  _ fuck that’s hot _ he thinks, pleasure pooling in his gut. Shaun’s own hands which were gripped shakily in his jacket pull Desmond closer against him until Desmond can’t feel where he stops and Shaun begins. 

Desmond’s hand weaves its way to the nape of Shaun’s neck, caressing the thin hair there and then drags his nails into his scalp, pulling lightly on the soft hair there. Shaun gasps into his mouth and Desmond shivers, either from the cold or because of that reaction he doesn’t know. He can’t think straight, his brain chanting  _ finally, finally, finally!  _ It’s not a perfect kiss by any means — Shaun’s glasses press awkwardly into the bridge of Desmond’s nose, their teeth clack at some point, and when Desmond pulls away there’s a wet sound and a thread of saliva connects their mouths and coats their lips. It’s messy but Desmond couldn’t care less because he is surrounded by Shaun; Shaun’s smell, Shaun’s hands, Shaun’s taste.  _ Shaun, Shaun, Shaun. _

Shaun chases his mouth, his hand coming to grip tightly on Desmond’s jaw to bring their lips together again and he swipes his tongue over Desmond’s bottom lip which pulls a throaty whine from him. Desmond didn’t even know he could make such a noise. He feels lightheaded, completely overwhelmed by every sensation and he pulls away, resting the side of his face against Shaun’s. They breathe each other in between small, short kisses and Desmond decides he never ever wants this moment to end.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into Shaun’s ear and Shaun pulls away from him, shock and hurt etched across his face. Christ, Desmond needs to get better at communicating. “For before, for shouting at you. Not this. Never this,” he says quickly, pressing a tender kiss to the side of Shaun’s mouth to reinforce that.

“Yeah, me too. I misunderstood and got defensive.”

“Small and feisty, like a wolverine,” Desmond grins and laughs harder when Shaun looks mortified but soon Shaun is laughing into Desmond’s chest.

“You’re not one of those people,” Shaun muffles. “It wasn’t fair to you, I know that you’re better than them. I just — I thought if I pushed you away then a rejection wouldn’t hurt as much.”

Desmond scratches at the back of Shaun’s head slowly and Shaun’s eyes flutter closed. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

“We’re okay,” Shaun repeats and they go back to slowly making out against the car like teenagers until Desmond pulls away again.

“Not to alarm you, but this cold is starting to seep into my bones and also people have been watching us for the past fifteen minutes,” he says and throws his head in the direction of the restaurant window.

“They’re just enjoying the show,” Shaun smirks but he pushes Desmond off of him anyway. “Home. I don’t want to be the cause of you freezing to death.”

They pick up where they left off when they reach the apartment and Shaun just about gets the door open before Desmond’s lips are on him again. Desmond walks them over to the sofa and pulls Shaun on top of his thighs, knees on either side of them and rests his hand on the bottom of Shaun’s back. Shaun clings to Desmond’s t-shirt and shuffles forward so that they’re flattened tightly against each other, Shaun’s back arched towards his chest. Sitting on Desmond’s thighs has given Shaun height over him and he tips Desmond’s jaw back to get a good angle on him.

It’s so fucking good that Desmond thinks he could weep with joy. All he wants to do is spend the rest of his life being encompassed by Shaun in every way possible. He’s so familiar in that they’ve spent the past few months in close quarters, the past few weeks in even closer quarters, learning everything there is to know about each other. This feels like a natural progression of their relationship. It’s everything he’s ever wanted and more.

“Stop thinking so hard,” Shaun mutters between breaths.

“It’s usually me telling you that,” Desmond chuckles and it turns into a sharp gasp as Shaun nips on his lip before soothing it with his tongue.

“But who’s in charge here?” he quips and Desmond shivers as his voice takes on a commanding tone. Trust Shaun to be hiding some wild kinky side beneath his nerdy exterior.

Desmond moves his hand from behind Shaun’s back and rests it on his hip instead then bucks his hips up so that Shaun slides further down his thighs. Shaun moans at that and Desmond thinks he could devour him whole right now. His mouth tastes like the tea he had with his dinner, because of course he drinks tea with his dinner, but there’s an underlying hint of garlic from the pasta meal. In anyone else, Desmond would probably find it gross because  _ ew garlic  _ but this isn’t just anyone. Shaun is running his hands anywhere he can get them; face, shoulders, chest, thighs, everywhere. Desmond loves it, wants Shaun to cover him with his touch, inside and out until he can’t take it anymore.

Desmond’s back is getting sore from his upright position so he maneuvers so that he's lying back on the sofa and then pulls Shaun on top of him again so that he’s lying between his legs. In this position, he can feel everything and he means everything. They’re both hard, rocking subtly against each other as they push and pull themselves into kisses. The knowledge that  _ he did that _ but also  _ holy shit this is real  _ sends sparks throughout his body, setting him alight. He slows their frantic and fervent kissing until they’re lazily pressing pecks into the other’s mouth, nose, head. He doesn’t want to go further than this, not right now. He wants to take it one step at a time; Shaun isn’t just some one night stand hes going to fuck and chuck. He’s in this for as long as Shaun will have him.

Shaun seems to have the same idea and he settles on top of him as Desmond cards through his hair rhythmically whilst Shaun draws circles on Desmond’s chest. It’s tender, soft, fond. He could stay like this forever.

“This is real, right?” Shaun asks, stilling his hand movements in a show of anxiety. 

“Christ, I hope so. Or this is just a very cruel dream,” is Desmond’s response and Shaun snorts which then turns into hysterical giggling. Desmond moves so that he can see Shaun’s face and pokes him in the cheek which makes Shaun giggle harder. The sound makes Desmond grin, it’s so lighthearted and free. He feels dopey, completely high off of the kissing and happiness. He thinks of how people refer to their significant other as a drug, someone you’re addicted to and can’t get enough of. Desmond used to scoff at the idea, could never imagine loving anyone that much, until now.

Because Desmond loves Shaun. Completely head over heels, arse over tit, in love with Shaun Hastings.

He presses his nose into Shaun’s hair and says, “yeah, this is real. We’re here. Together.”

Shaun buries his face into the crook of Desmond's face and sighs.

"Together."

* * *

When Desmond wakes up, the first thing he thinks is that he’s been run over by a semi and that he’s made it to heaven. The sun is beaming through the windows, lighting up the room and Desmond groans as it seeps through his closed eyelids. Next, he smacks his mouth and cringes at the severity of his morning breath. Lastly, is the throbbing pain in his limb as well as the stiffness in his back. Keeping his eyes closed, he throws his legs over the side of the chair and sits up. His back pops violently as he stretches and he feels it crackle at his neck. He hasn’t slept on a sofa for years and this served as a reminder as to why. 

Desmond stumbles into the kitchen and fumbles in the cupboards for the ibuprofen and takes two. He massages at his limb slowly, kneading on the skin until the ache begins to lessen and then he slips the compression garment on it and hopes for the best. He leans on the cupboard and takes in the silence. And then it registers. He didn’t sleep alone on the sofa last night.

So where is Shaun?

It’s only 8:15 in the morning, he couldn’t have left for Montreal already and especially without telling him. He makes his way upstairs and knocks on Shaun’s bedroom door but there’s no answer. He kicks it open and sees the bed made, drawers cleared of items, and a bag sat on the bed. So he’s still here at least. He scours every other room and the bathroom but there are no signs of life in the house at all. He sends him a quick text and then hops in the shower.

He stands with his head resting on the wall and simply lets the water wash over him, too tired for much else. He thinks about last night and smiles to himself. It had finally happened. Desmond had been terrified that everything could have possibly ended in flames last night when they were fighting. He had never felt so many emotions at once: the anger when Shaun had insulted him, the pain when he realised that he had hurt Shaun, the fear that they would never come back from that, and the sheer unbridled happiness when they did. 

There was no one he trusted more than Shaun. He didn’t want to go through the motions of strangers to friends to lovers with anyone else, didn’t want to get to know someone with the intention of inevitably pushing his tongue down their throat. That thought always negged at the back of his head when he was with new people —  _ let's be real, you’re only talking to them so you can get laid.  _ With Shaun, it was never like that. With Shaun they had fought constantly and Desmond had wanted to stick the man in a blender just to shut him up because holy shit, was he irritating. Then they had gradually become friends and Desmond had thought that okay, he was a pretty cool guy when he wasn’t being an asshole. And then one day, Desmond had woken up and noticed how blue Shaun’s eyes were, how he had freckles that dusted over his nose and cheeks, and from there on began the yearning.

Desmond had never yearned for anyone until now.

He dries himself off in a daze, still thinking of last night, moving through the house like a zombie. He almost didn’t hear the door shut closed and the hushed voice of the only other person who lived here.

“... I don’t know what to say to him … I don’t want him to get the wrong idea …” says Shaun. Desmond stands at the top of the stairs and listens as Shaun throws the keys onto the table and there’s a rustling of bags. He holds his breath to hear more of the conversation. “I just don’t think it’s a good decision … things could go wrong … don’t think I could do it.” 

Desmond frowns deeply, feeling a mixture of confusion and irritation surge in his gut. He can’t hear the rest of the conversation past the rushing of blood in his ears. Was Shaun backing out already? 

He skips down the stairs as though he hadn’t heard anything and wraps his arms around Shaun’s waist and pulls him to his chest. Shaun jumps violently and chokes out “I’ll call you back,” then slides the phone into his pocket. He turns in Desmond’s arms and goes bright red, transfixed on the half naked man currently holding him.

“Where’d you go this morning? Missed you,” Desmond says, pressing a kiss to Shaun’s head and watching his face to gauge his reaction. Shaun’s eyes flitter around the room but don’t land back on Desmond, he doesn’t make a move to push himself into Desmond's embrace and instead stands rigid.

“Oh, I, I needed to get last minute things before I leave later,” he fumbles out, rushing over his words.

Desmond plays dumb and continues to invade his space, rubbing his hand up and down his arm. “Yeah? That’s cool. Who was on the phone?”

“Becca. She was just asking me how you were getting on. Told her you’re doing good.”

Desmond hums, “So, what do you think I’m going to get the wrong idea about? Because I heard that, you know. And also know that that isn’t what you and Rebecca were talking about.” He takes a step back, already missing Shaun’s warmth, and leans against the door frame. Shaun has the decency to look bad for lying.

“We need to talk,” he says and Desmond’s stomach churns. He swallows the lump forming in his throat and replies, “shoot.”

“What are we?”

Ah yes, the age old question that Desmond has been asked countless times and never knows how to reply. This time he does, but he plays it cool (if only to ease his own anxieties).

“What do you want us to be?”

“I’m asking you,” Shaun shoots back petulantly but he’s fidgeting with his hands.

Desmond sighs, now or never. “I want us to be us, just like we’ve always been. I want us to bicker and fight and pull each other’s pigtails. But … I also want us to kiss and touch and trust each other. I wanna be able to come home to you after a mission, I want you to be able to relax around me.” He shrugs, “I want us to be  _ us _ .”

“That’s disgusting,” Shaun responds but he’s smiling. “I didn’t take you to be a sap.”

Desmond pulls him back into his chest and noogies his head, “only for you, boyfriend.”

Shaun makes a noise of disgust, “we aren’t ten years old, Des. I am not your  _ boyfriend _ .” He shivers at the word. Desmond rolls his eyes at his childishness.

“My beloved?”

“Definitely not,” Shaun scoffs, although he flushes a little at the term.

“The apple of my eye, my admirer, my flame, my main squeeze,” Desmond rhymes off a list of endearments, each progressively getting worse, and follows Shaun around the flat much to his annoyance. He tries to shut the door of his bedroom and lean against it but Desmond, being a much larger built person, forces it open with ease and sends Shaun stumbling. Desmond shrugs an apology and then lies down on his bed, sinking into the pillows, as Shaun finishes packing the last of his things. “In all seriousness, what were you talking about on the phone?”

Shaun stills his movements and sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed in front of Desmond. “I was asking Rebecca if it was too forward to ask you what you wanted from our relationship, if a relationship is what you wanted. I wasn’t sure if that’s what you wanted, I thought you might just want to be friends with benefits,” Desmond opens his mouth to protest but Shaun holds his hand up. “I know you seemed pretty serious last night but I thought maybe you were caught up in the moment. Maybe we were on the same page last night, but not on the same book, you get me? Anyway, I told her I didn’t think I could do a friends with benefits situation. I’m too far gone on you for that,” he smiles sheepishly. 

“Come here,” Desmond says, making grabby hands. When Shaun doesn’t move, Desmond sits up, wraps his arm around the back of Shaun’s neck, and pulls him down WWE style. He traps him between the bed and his leg and starts pressing kisses to every exposed piece of skin. “You’re kinda stupid. Not really, you’re actually really smart and you know that, but you’re also dumb,” he says between kisses.

“Great, thanks. That makes me feel really good,” Shaun drawls and thumps him on the thigh with his fist.

“Sorry, it’s just, I can’t believe how you’ve never noticed how much I fawn over you. According to Becs, I’m super obvious. I didn’t come this far with you just to have a quick fuck every now and again,” and oh how he revels in how flushed Shaun becomes at that, “I’m like totally in love with you,” he says without thinking. Shaun tenses under him and Desmond’s brain eventually catches up with his mouth.  _ Shit. _

“You … you love me?” Shaun asks and Desmond curses his big mouth.

He lets go of where his arm is petting Shaun’s back and rubs his neck. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to come out. Oh God, I’ve totally fucked it up already. Listen, can we forget — “ he rants but is cut off by Shaun’s lips against him. It’s long and passionate and the last thing Desmond expected considering he had just told the most emotionally constipated man ever his feelings after not even a day of getting together.

“You love me,” Shaun says, more firmly this time.

“Yeah,” Desmond responds breathlessly, “how could I not?”

He meant it. It was hard to not love Shaun because he was so complex and all Desmond wanted to do was figure him out like a puzzle. So that’s what he had done. 

When they first met, he realised that Shaun was so cold towards him because after Clay, he didn’t want to lose anyone else and be emotionally destroyed again. Shaun had a huge heart but not many people were allowed in. His barriers had slipped and Clay had weaseled his way in, only to be ripped from him. So now Shaun is frigid when he meets new people for his own protection.

Desmond knows though that those who have access to his heart ultimately become a part of him. He sees it in how he treats Rebecca — they wind each other up constantly, but it’s Shaun consoling her after a friend from a different team has died that no one sees, when he sits with her and allows her to soak his good jumpers with tears and says nothing. He sees it in how he treats Lucy — although they get on each other’s bad side more often than not and disagree on various things, they’re still friends at the end of the day and if Lucy asks him to do a supply run with her or train with her, he’ll always say yes. Because Shaun’s love language is acts of service as opposed to words of affirmation.

Not many see that side of Shaun. He’s been punished so much for letting people in that he’s stopped doing so and has forced himself to become a lone wolf. And the thought of Shaun being alone pains Desmond because everyone needs someone and Shaun in particular needs someone. Someone to see the true side of him, someone to build his confidence up, someone who would never leave him. Desmond wants to be that someone.

They continue kissing, lazily meeting each other’s mouths, just enjoying each other’s presence. It’s all so easy, Desmond feels like they’ve been doing this for years. There’s no stress to act like someone they aren’t, they know each other inside out by now.

Shaun breaks the kiss and looks at Desmond guiltily, “I can’t say it back. Not right now. I will because I do, but I’m not ready just yet.”

“That’s okay,” is Desmond’s response and he really means it. He knows Shaun does — knows by how they hold each other and how Shaun has been nothing but supportive during Desmond’s recovery and how Shaun makes him his coffee just how he likes it. It’s the simple things.

“Thank you,” Shaun whispers and presses one last kiss to the side of Desmond’s mouth. “I have to leave soon.”

Desmond had been trying not to think about it. He didn’t know how he was going to bide his time without him in the flat. “I wish I was going with you but I have to put myself first and complete my therapy. Plus, I’ll text and call you as much as I can. I wouldn’t want you to miss me too much,” he grins and Shaun pushes him flat on the bed then continues packing his bag. Desmond hums as he packs, almost lulling himself to sleep, when Shaun throws the bag onto the bed and jostles him.

“Time to go.”

Desmond follows him somberly to the door and opens the car for him to put his bag in. They stand there simply taking each other in when Desmond suddenly remembers something. 

“Be right back,” he yells, already halfway into the flat and leaving Shaun baffled. He comes back out with Shaun’s wolverine teddy and presses it to his chest. “You can take this to bed with you and then it’ll be like me, you’re  _ boyfriend  _ — ” he teases and emphasises the word, “— is there with you.” Shaun laughs but sets it into the passenger seat. 

Desmond wraps his arm around his neck and Shaun buries himself into his (still shirtless) chest, wrapping his own arms around his torso. When they let go, Desmond is already feeling the pang of loss in his chest. Shaun gets into the car and shuts the door but rolls down the window so that Desmond can give him an awkwardly angled kiss.

“I’ll see you soon,” Desmond says.

“Not soon enough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the way that i was going to end this chapter off with none of this happening and instead leave them fighting until they see each other again, the angst was just too great. couldnt do that to you guys


	10. 7th March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> desmond takes a hit at adulting, him and william reconcile, and there are reunions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hennies - i am big fat sorry for the lack of posting. i started uni back in august, got myself into an (amazing) relationship, and with the whole virus thing i just haven't had the time to post. my uni course is a humanities subject so im constantly writing essays and they've taken over my life so writing chapters had to take a sideline. i hope you're all okay and doing well!
> 
> *minor spoiler for valhalla* i saw shaun is back and phew they really said lets age this man 30 years in a probably less than 10 year window huh. still, im excited to have him back and hope rebecca makes an appearance too
> 
> with that being said, i hope you enjoy this chapter. it took a bit to get back into the swing of things so if its a little janky then i apologise :)

Shaun was right. It wasn’t soon enough.

It has been two months and Desmond still isn’t in Montreal.

For days after Shaun’s departure, Desmond had spent moping about the empty flat. It felt lifeless without Shaun and he was utterly lonely. He began conversations and then grew confused when no one answered before remembering that he was the only one in the house. It was a sad realisation  — he had gotten used to having people milling about the place after living with Shaun, Rebecca, and Lucy for a while and couldn’t wrap his head around being alone again. He ended up making conversation with the people in the street, sitting outside on the front lawn as the snow began to defrost and the temperature began to pick up.

Thankfully, Lucy had arrived at the end of the first week. They had embraced for what felt like hours and Desmond realised then just how much he had actually missed her. They talked day through to night and spent the next few exploring the town; they went to the cinema, bowling, and took hikes around the parks and forests. Each different day kept Desmond’s mind off of Shaun and how much he ached to see him again. Shaun never had time to call, working from sunrise to sunset, and they had only texted a few times so far, mostly to let him know that he was okay and that he was thinking of Desmond. Desmond didn’t have much time to talk either, his schedule was packed at the moment.

On top of his activities with Lucy was his more frequent therapy sessions with Samir. He was growing more skilled in using his prosthetic, perfecting techniques and movements. He kept it on almost all the time now, except in the morning and night. He had also begun to wear it out in public — unlike what he had expected, not many people stared. They glanced at it and glanced away again, it was like there was nothing different. Desmond supposes there isn’t; he has an arm, it just happens to be metal. Kids gawked a lot more than their parents but Desmond found he didn’t mind, they were children and children were naturally curious. Whenever he caught a child staring, he simply waved at them with it and they looked amazed and over the moon. Lucy commented that the attention was 100% fueling his already huge ego.

Desmond was feeling more confident in his usage of the prosthetic that he had actually booked himself in with a personal trainer. Relearning how to use equipment such as weights and the machines was excruciatingly frustrating at first — there were barbells he wasn’t able to use due to the weight restrictions of the prosthetic which was a slight setback in his workout routine but he was able to substitute those weights through the use of resistant equipment such as pec deck machines and also the punching bag. It was interesting, feeling the push and pull of the prosthetic when he was exercising; it was the first time he had felt as though the arm was well and truly a part of him as opposed to being a phantom limb. The muscle he had been losing from his inactivity the past few weeks was slowly building back up thanks to his new routine and the addition of a dietary plan. 

He had also joined a mixed martial arts class, wanting to get back into the swing of things. Everything came naturally to him due to his previous training, it was just a case of becoming lithe again. It wasn’t as much as a struggle as what he had expected; his gym sessions had helped him get into shape and though his limb was under strain, he had built up resistance and it no longer ached after extensive use. The assassin within him had been dormant for so long and when he began performing signature moves, he felt something awake in him.

He was beginning to feel like himself again.

Therefore, when the two weeks were up, Desmond knew he wasn’t ready to leave — He and Samir were progressing at extreme rates but there was still things to be learnt and perfected, and there were talks of him finally being booked in to receive his permanent prosthesis. His training was finally beginning to pick up speed enough for him to see progress and ultimately, he would only be beneficial to the assassins and to himself if he was at his best and staying where he was was the best way to achieve that.

To his surprise, his father had agreed with his plan. There wasn’t much Desmond could do to aid them at the moment anyway as Shaun and Rebecca had Abstergo covered. However, Lucy was called back to Montreal to be briefed for a new mission in Western India that required her expertise and would be leaving in the next few days. Desmond was upset to see her leave but he knew she was happiest in the field and could tell she was growing bored at the repetitious days; he couldn’t blame her. All he had to do now was tell Shaun.

Getting Shaun on the phone had been hard because of both of their busy schedules and it wasn’t until three days after Desmond’s expected arrival date that they could get a hold of each other. Even then, it was a short and snipped conversation. Desmond could tell by Shaun’s tone that he wasn’t exactly happy.

“You’re not here. We’re well into the first week of February and you haven’t arrived yet. William said you aren’t coming. What’s going on?”

“I know, I’m sorry. I wanted to get a hold of you earlier so that I could tell you but I never got the chance.”

“So when are you coming?” Desmond can hear his heavy footsteps in the background and knows he’s pacing which is a telltale sign he isn’t impressed. Desmond cringes at his next sentence, preparing for Shaun to cuss him out.

“I don’t know.”

Shaun’s footsteps stop. “You don’t know.”

“I don’t know,” Desmond repeats. 

“Okay … okay. Why don’t you know?” Shaun asks with a sigh. Desmond tells him about his therapy, training, and prosthesis news. Shaun releases another sigh and when he speaks next he sounds tired, “I’m sorry. That’s great news. Amazing news even.”

“Yeah, I’m excited. I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that. Look, I shouldn’t have shouted at you for not being here. It was selfish, I’m glad you’re putting yourself first.”

“Aw Shaun, do you miss me?” Desmond drawls and he rests his head on the back of the sofa grinning.

“A little bit,” Shaun says and Desmond can definitely tell that he rolled his eyes, could hear it in the exasperation in his voice.

“What are you wearing right now?” Desmond asks and laughs when he hears the end call tone. The phone beeps two seconds later.

**SH:** Absolutely not. Never.  _ (21:13) _

**DM:** Never? :(  _ (21:13) _

**SH:** One day  _ (21:14) _

**DM:** ;)  _ (21:14) _

* * *

Each fortnight, he made his way down to Louis County for his medical checkup with both Amal and Dr Ramsey. At every appointment they remarked that the healing process was like nothing they had ever seen and took pictures and samples for further research. Little did they know, Desmond was doing his  _ own  _ research on the matter. 

Lucy had gratefully brought down a spare laptop for him to use when she first arrived and he had been scouring their databases ever since. Unlike Shaun who took every word in, Desmond tended to simply glance over information. He had never really bothered to read up on Shaun’s databases whilst he was in the animus though he appreciated it nonetheless. This time around, he picked everything apart with a fine tooth comb. There were gaps in their general Isu knowledge but looking into individual Isus is where he struck gold.

It was a little known fact that the Isu were present in many ancient civilizations, Greek, Egyptian, Roman, Celtic, and so on. One Isu represented a different deity in each different civilization. It was knowing these different personas that proved troubling. However, once they had made connections between Roman deities and the Isu during Desmond’s exploration of Italy, an assassin team was assigned the job of discovering these different identities which is what Desmond had stumbled upon. Minerva was known to Romano-British as Sulis: a healing and life giving goddess. Vials of water were brought for her to bless so that they may bathe in it and heal, but she also had the power to curse as well as cure.

Minerva seemed to be central to Desmond’s life at the moment — it was her who tried to save him from Juno, her who led him through the vaults, and her who appeared even after her ‘death’ to provide him with messages. Then came the next question: was Minerva really dead? The Isu were Gods, for all intents and purposes, but even Gods struggled to come back from the dead. And Minerva seemed to act through Desmond, if she was the one healing him then what if ...

Little was known about Aita, Juno’s husband, but what was very well known was his reincarnation through humans that became known as Sages. To the assassins knowledge, there are eight Sages in existence, but there could very well be more. But Aita’s reincarnation was made possible through Juno implanting his genetic code into human DNA; if Minerva had somehow made herself present in Desmond’s own body or mind, it would have to have been through a different method.

“I’m going mad,” he muttered, rubbing his temple and pushing the laptop away from him. There was no way she was a part of him, right? But he wasn’t convincing even himself. He’d have to discuss it with Shaun when he got the chance.

* * *

There was only one thing Desmond had to do before he could leave for Montreal.

He had been attending prosthesis fitting appointments regularly in preparation for receiving his permanent prosthesis. The sessions were long, almost four hours, and Desmond swore he could have fallen asleep standing up. They measured the area of his limb, assessed his limb control with and without his current prosthesis, and surveyed him in regards to what he needed to function to the best of his abilities. William had transferred the funds from his mother’s account to Desmond’s own bank account with an added bonus from William himself. On top of those funds and the money that Desmond had in his own savings account, he had enough to pay the first installment with some left over. Therefore, in the first week of March, he received his permanent prosthetic.

The prosthetic was a sleek, black metal arm with silver highlights. It shocked Desmond just how robotic it looked; it was lightweight and thin and shone when the light hit it. When he donned it, he wasn’t expecting it to be lighter than the one he was using. It felt airy and he moved it with ease, the fingers skeletal like in their thinness. Suited for his training, the hand could be detached and replaced with a yoke adaptor and hook which allowed for barbells and weights to be attached and lifts to be safely performed. 

When he returned to the flat, he gaped at himself in the mirror. The prosthesis suited him so much better than the one he had been using. He flexed the joints and moved it about, ecstatic at how it looked on. It was as though he was finally complete.

He could finally make his way back to Shaun.

Luckily, it wasn’t long before he could do so. Desmond attended his last therapy session with Samir on the 6th of March. It was bittersweet — the beginning of the end of Desmond’s therapy but also the ending of a friendship of sorts. Desmond gifted him a six pack of alcohol as well as a gift card and Samir had looked like he was about to burst into tears and clasped him into a huge bear hug; Desmond could hardly breathe but he squeezed back regardless. That same day, he scheduled to meet with the personal trainer and martial arts teacher to cancel his membership with them. They wished him the best and gave him referrals for teachers in Montreal.

The next morning he packed his bag, tidied the house, and handed the keys over. William pulled up at 11 and they were on the road. With the change in season came the change in scenery — the snow was gone from the fields and in its place was tall strands of grass that was being mowed down by cows and sheep alike. The trees were beginning to grow their leaves again and bushes were covered in newly bloomed flowers. Driving with the window down, the crisp air blew back in his face and tickled his sinuses, setting his hay fever on edge.

The car ride was excruciatingly long, made worse by the lack of conversation. It had picked up at the start, Desmond telling his father everything that happened since they had last called and William humming along, asking questions and adding his own comments. It was almost normal; they laughed and bantered as though it was the usual for them. It’s only when they ran out of things to talk about that Desmond realised that they weren’t normal, never were and never would be.

“What do you think mom would think of us?” Desmond had asked two hours into the drive. William was quiet for so long that Desmond assumed he wasn’t going to bother replying and he lay his head against the window and closed his eyes.

“I think she’d be disappointed. In me, not you. Never you. You’re her pride and joy.”

Desmond sits up and turns to fully face his father, bringing his knee up to rest on the chair. “Why you?”

“I’ve failed you and in doing so, I’ve failed her. She always told me off for treating you as a student and not a son. I knew she was right, still is. We’ve never really had a father-son relationship. And that’s on me.” He pauses for a while and Desmond revels in the silence, takes what he’s saying in. 

“She left a letter before she died. I’ll let you read it one day. She cussed me out the whole letter,” he laughs, half sad and half fond. “Said that we were all each other had and if I didn’t realise that soon, then we’d lose each other. I didn’t think it would happen so soon after that,” he trails off, voice gruff. “I can only blame myself for the distance between us, for letting it grow and for accentuating it even further. You deserve more than a father like me, you deserve your mother.”

Desmond chews on his lip and rolls his hand in his lap. It wasn’t where he was expecting the conversation to go, thought he would brush Desmond off or give a short answer. He wasn’t sure how to answer his father, so he said what came to his mind.

“I do deserve a better father but that isn’t how life works.  _ You _ are my father and I think you need to start acting like it, only you can change that. It isn’t too late. I’m here and I’m ready to catch up on the years we missed. If you don’t do it for me then do it for mom.”

“I’ll do it for you, Desmond. I do want that, you know. It may not seem like it — I know I can be rough, harsh, maybe even cruel, but this is something I want. I don’t exactly know how to go about it mind you,” he scoffs, “but I’m damn well gonna try.”

“That’s all I ask.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence for once and Desmond watches as the fields and barren lands transform into cityscapes and skyscrapers, busy roads and busy streets. On every corner is a shop, restaurant or bar that people pile out of in swarms. It’s so loud; he can hear children screaming in their school playground, honking car horns in traffic, people’s conversations, the chiming of music from speakers and shops. It’s so what Desmond is used to after living in New York and he feels as though he’s returning home for the first time in a while. 

Desmond whistles slowly when Abstergo entertainment building comes into view — it stands tall and proud, looming over the city. It's the most modern piece of architecture that Desmond has ever seen; abstract shapes, glistening white, floor to ceiling windows. It almost blends in with the world, the cityscape reflecting off of the windows. At the highest point of the building, there's a pod with a balcony wedged in between the two towers. He can only imagine what the interior is like.

William pulls them into a row of mismatched townhouses just a mile or two from Abstergo. To Desmond's surprise, the area is lush with foliage and there's a large pool of water across the road from them where he can see people milling about on swan boats. The townhouse they park outside of is the thinnest of the lot; it’s brown brick with a black roof and four tall bay windows that sit adjacent to each other. The tiny front garden is dirty; weeds protrude from the cracks in the concrete and what little foliage there is is dead. The inside isn’t a lot better — it’s extremely old fashioned and Desmond turns his nose up at it. The walls in every room are either the same dull beige colour or plastered with black, flowery wallpaper. The floors are wooden but covered up with cream patterned rugs. The chairs are a brown fabric and the kitchen cabinets are brown too with a black stone top. It’s all so monotonous and dreary and Desmond’s skin itches just looking at it. The next two stories are largely the same — dark rooms with dark furniture and a grubby look to the carpets. There is one obvious problem however.

“Only three bedrooms?” he asks, peering into what is most likely Rebecca’s room judging by the energy drinks and clothes scattered about the surfaces.

“Unfortunately. Lucy and Rebecca were bunking whilst Shaun and I had our own bedrooms. I offered to let you have mine and I could stay with Shaun but he didn’t look very impressed with that idea, so you’re rooming with him. I know you two don’t get along — “

“We get along great, all it took was some close quarter contact,” Desmond assures him, suppressing a smirk. That and some  _ other  _ forms of contact.

“Oh, well that’s sorted then. I have schedules to go over with you so get settled in and we can talk downstairs,” William says, clapping him on the shoulder and then bounding down the stairs. His heavy footsteps are softened by the thick carpet coating the floor.

Firstly, Desmond dons his new prosthesis. It’s the first time he’s really used it properly since he received it yesterday and moving with it seems so natural. He puts his clothes away in the chest of drawers opposite to Shaun’s side (the side with the ring stains and messy duvet) and tucks his bag under the bed. He hides the laptop in his sock drawer (a habit he picked up to prevent his father from stealing his phone when he was younger) and then sets all his toiletries in the on suite bathroom. Although living with him for the past six months, Desmond had never been inside any of his quarters but he always had an idea of what Shaun would organise it like. He wasn’t surprised to see that he was right — Shaun kept his toiletries and wash bottles organised in little boxes by their use. There was a box for shampoo, body wash, conditioner, shaving foams, wipes and tissues, and teeth supplies. In the bedroom, he had what books he had in alphabetical order, his leads and wires all wrapped up and labelled, his clothes folded neatly and organised by material, and his side of the bed was pristine, the corner of the duvet tucked in tightly and the pillow fluffed up. He didn’t expect anything less from him. He places his eagle beside the wolverine where it sits on the windowsill and smiles. Everything looks good.

In the kitchen, William is sitting at the table with a planner and calendar laid in front of him. He beckons Desmond to sit in front of him.

“Damn, that’s a fine looking prosthetic I gotta say. Very cyber like. No wonder it was so expensive,” he jokes and Desmond hums. 

“Tell me about it, extortionate prices. But, for what it does I’m not surprised.” He gestures towards the files in front of them, “This what you wanna talk about?”

“These are Shaun and Rebecca’s schedules and dates for Lucy’s check ins and retrieval — familiarise yourself. You’re going to be my right hand man whilst we work from here so I want you to be keeping on top of things alongside me. I know it isn’t the type of work you want, but it would be a great help and it’ll give you experience outside of field work.” He pulls another sheet out of a folder that has phrases, information under those headers, and dates typed on it, “This is a list of current and upcoming missions that we’ll be helping with — resources, weapons, information, check ins, and so on. If one of these missions goes wrong, we could be called out to oversee retrievals.” He points to a header titled ‘Soora’, “this is the mission Lucy is on in Mumbai. She’s operating in a safehouse with the Dhami siblings to interrogate a man known as Jot Soora. He’s believed to be the ancestor of Arbaaz Mir, an assassin who possessed the Koh-I-Noor before it became lost.”

“Koh-I-Noor? What is it?”

“A piece of Eden, supposedly the most powerful piece we know of. It has the ability to locate the other pieces as well as bind the fates of the pieces together. It’s heavily sought after for those reasons and it’s crucial we find it before it lands in the hands of the Templars.”

“Shit. Is there anything else we can do to locate it?”

William shakes his head, “Not at the moment. We’ll have to see what Lucy discovers.” Desmond didn’t like that answer but it wasn’t like he could do anything to challenge it either. They would just have to wait. In the meantime …

“I think I’m going to look for a job, bartending in the evening. What do you think?”

William looks surprised, “Sounds great. Just as long as you’re around to help out with the missions in the afternoon.”

Desmond nods and then gets to work on crafting a CV, practising his interview skills, and practising drink making. It’s so mundane and  _ normal _ . He didn’t think he would ever be applying for jobs again until he was either retired or booted from the brotherhood. Still, he doesn’t mind. He isn’t shabby by any means, he made drinks regularly for the team back in Italy, but he had both arms back then. Despite his worries, he is far from bad at it which instills him with confidence. 

“Still got it,” he mutters to himself, glancing proudly at the multiple tumblers sitting on the counter.

He starts applying to every bartending job he can possibly find online and then shuts the laptop down and begins twiddling with his thumbs. He can hear his father on the line in the other room and sighs: he’s mightily fucking bored. Then he gets an idea — he goes and checks Shaun and Rebecca’s schedule and finds they both get out early on Tuesdays and Fridays, 7pm to be exact. It’s now 6pm. He has time to shower, pick an outfit out, and walk down to meet them outside Abstergo. 

After showering, he pulls on the black ripped jeans that Shaun had laughed at along with a tight white t-shirt and his white Nikes. He tries styling his hair but eventually gives up and leaves it to run wild, the waves sitting all over the top of his head. He’s in dire need of a barber's appointment, the nape of his neck beginning to be tickled by the hair there. He’s debating keeping the stubble that's starting to coat his jaw and upper lip, gives him a more chiseled look. Before leaving, he covers his head with a cap, pulling it down over his face, and throws a black hoodie on over his top. It’s the worst attempt to hide his face he’s ever made and he thinks he won’t be getting an award for undercover work anytime soon.

He arrives at Abstergo with ten minutes to spare and leans against the park fence across the road, not daring to get too close so that he risks being spotted. He watches the people pass by — women and men in sophisticated suits come and go from the building, briefcases in hand and phones at their ear. There are security guards posted at the front of the building and can see another two posted at the sides, highly guarded. Although the building is covered in windows, he can’t see inside at all, meaning they’re one sided. It’s strange how secretive the company seems to be, as though they’re hiding something big. 

The glass doors at the entrance slide open and he sees Rebecca and Shaun leave, dressed in their normal clothes with a duffel bag over each of their shoulders. 

**DM:** Look in front of you  _ (19:04) _

He texts Rebecca and huffs a laugh when he sees her look at her phone and then frantically around before her eyes land on him. Her mouth drops into an ‘O’ and she grips Shaun’s arm then begins walking quickly over to his position. He walks further into the park behind him and waits by a fountain, not wanting to cause a huge scene outside the company when he’s trying to be discreet. Once he’s in a safer spot, Rebecca drops her bag and starts running to him, jumping on top of him and wrapping her legs around his waist as he wraps his arms tightly around her stomach. They both giggle breathlessly as he spins her around and then sets her down gently, still hugging each other. 

“Holy fucking shit dude! I am so glad to see you! Oh my God,” she says, wheezing into his chest as she tries to catch her breath. He squeezes her tighter and then finally lets her go so that they can look at each other. “I can’t believe you’re finally here.”

“Tell me about it, it has been way too long. I couldn’t wait to see you,” he grins, leaning against the bench. “You up for drinking tonight? Celebration because the best two people in the world are together again?” 

“Do you even have to ask? Duh!” she replies, bouncing up and down on the balls of her heels. She puts Desmond in mind of a tiny pixie.

“That means I’m the designated driver which also means neither of you are allowed to throw up in my car,” comes a British drawl. Desmond looks past Rebecca to see Shaun sauntering up, having walked at a  _ normal _ pace to meet him. He’s pulled a grey woolen overcoat on top of a navy jumper, a thin scarf wrapped around his neck. His hair has gotten longer from the last time he’s seen him, thick at the sides, and a small beard coats his chin. He looks so fucking pretty, Desmond thinks about mauling him right here in public.

Instead, he pulls him by the lapels of his coat and kisses him. It’s a light kiss, mindful of Rebecca, but it frightens him a little just how deep he wants to make it, wants to push his tongue so far down his throat and bury it there, make up for the last two months. He doesn’t think he ever wants to be away from Shaun again, especially since he was taken from him not even 24 hours after they had gotten together. Like taking candy from a baby.

They pull apart with a soft noise and Shaun looks bashful, glancing between Rebecca and Desmond, but Rebecca is completely unphased and makes kissy faces at them.

“Hey,” Desmond says, bringing Shaun’s attention back to him with a soft hand on his jaw. Shaun jerks at the coldness of Desmond’s fingers before relaxing again and pushing into his hand, an action distinctly cat-like.

“Hey yourself,” Shaun blinks, his eyes transfixed on Desmond’s lips. 

“You miss me?”

“Not at all,” Shaun says with a straight face. Desmond tilts his head and stares at Shaun with narrowed eyes. The corner of his mouth is badly hiding a smirk and Shaun realises then that he may have fucked up. Desmond brings him against his chest and starts pressing wet sloppy kisses all over his face, refusing to let him go. Rebecca cackles beside them and Shaun struggles against Desmond, pushing his face away with his hand before realising his attempts were in vain and then he simply lets it happen. Desmond gives him one last wet smooch before releasing him and Shaun stumbles backwards a little, wiping at his face with his sleeve.

“Prick,” he mutters, but his face is flushed more than Desmond has ever seen it and his lips are twitching as he tries to hide a smile.

“Stop being gross and let's go!” Rebecca groans, grabbing each of them by the hand and pulling them towards the car park.

Shaun drives them around the streets as they scout for a bar. The busy streets have died down from earlier in the day, mostly filled with people leaving their workplace. They choose a smaller bar that sits on the corner of the street and find a booth placed towards the back of the building. Desmond sits with his back against the wall so that he can have a perfect view of everyone who comes in and out, a habit they’ve all picked up thanks to the nature of their job. Rebecca sits across from him and Shaun sits in the middle of them both. Desmond and Rebecca order two drinks each,  _ Budweiser  _ and vodka with  _ Red Bull _ respectively whereas Shaun opts for water.

The lights in the bar are dim with a red tint thanks to some overhead lights. It makes Shaun’s hair look ginger, accentuates his jawline and makes his features look darker. He looks utterly irresistible. Desmond rests a hand on his knee, moving it to his mid thigh and Shaun looks at him alarmed before settling down again and resting his own hand over his, stroking his finger up and down the length of his finger. He rests his head on the back of the chair and rolls it so that he stares at Desmond face on, holding eye contact and smiling so softly at him that Desmond’s heart leaps into his throat.

“I thought I was third wheeling before back when we were in Italy, little did I know that was only the beginning.”

“Italy?” Shaun frowns. “Why Italy?”

Rebecca gapes at him, “You’re serious?” When Shaun continues to look confused she exclaims “You were all over each other!”

Shaun looks over to Desmond, “No we weren’t.” Desmond shrugs and Shaun grows even more confused, “Were we?”

“I definitely was,” Desmond snorts, remembering what Rebecca had told him about being obvious.

“You’ve liked me since Italy?” Shaun asks, his mouth falling open. He takes his hand off of Desmond’s and wraps it around his glass. Rebecca necks her drink back and leaves them to order another.

“Well, yeah,” Desmond says and it’s his turn to be puzzled.

“I thought you despised me,” Shaun whispers. “You used to pick on me constantly!”

Desmond winces, “that was just me trying to flirt. And anyway,” he continues, pointing an accusing finger, “if anyone hated anyone here it was you! You refused to talk to me and were constantly rude.”

“That’s because I thought you hated me so I pretended to hate you! I liked you, like, a lot,” he trails off. Desmond groans and smacks a hand to his head.

“We’re fucking idiots.”

“You’re only now realising?” Rebecca says when she comes back carrying three more drinks for them.

“You knew?” Shaun asks, voice raised.

“Uh, duh. You guys both came to me constantly to talk about each other for months!”

Shaun grabs Desmond’s beer and takes a sip before immediately hissing and grimacing. The sight makes Desmond and Rebecca giggle relentlessly and from there the night begins to go downhill (for Shaun anyway). Desmond and Rebecca order countless more drinks and sing, dance, and prance about the establishment, coaxing other patrons to join them. The noise levels in the place rise as the bar staff raise the volume of the music, a mixture of pop and dance songs that to Shaun just sound like noise. Those who came to watch the rugby had grumbled and glared at them, then filed out when the match ended. Shaun had made the bartender refuse them drinks after their seventh but Desmond had worked his charm and persuaded them to let him behind the bar to make his own drinks for them all. Shaun had groaned in despair and after they had finished that drink, he dragged them out of the bar by their coats and down the street to his car, stumbling the whole way.

It was only a short route home but it took longer because he had to stop for Rebecca to heave onto the grass. The noise made Shaun himself want to gag; he had never been comfortable around sick. Desmond was close to falling asleep in the front seat so he opened the windows so that the air would blow back into his face to wake him up. He attempted to get them into the house silently so as to not wake up William but the two tripped over rugs and chairs and stumbled clumsily up the stairs. A door was slammed and he could hear retching again; he only hoped it was coming from a bathroom and not a bedroom. After setting up the alarm and locking up, he made up two glasses of water and brought them upstairs. He set one in Rebecca’s room then to his own where Desmond was sprawled on the bed, his hoodie pulled halfway up his chest and over his head.

“I can’t get it off,” he slurred, muffled by the fabric. Shaun tuts and pulls it roughly off of him, then takes his t-shirt off too. It isn’t how he expected to undress Desmond for the first time to be frank. Desmond kicks his own shoes and jeans off, leaving him in just his boxers. Shaun tries not to stare. He pokes at a button on his arm which releases its pressure on his limb but he hisses as he pulls it off and Shaun forgets he’s meant to be grumpy with him and runs to help. “It’s okay. I’m just not meant to do it without using the nylon bag. It’ll be fine, it’s just a bit sore,” he says, yawning in between words.

Shaun looks at him dubiously but drops it. “Teeth. I’m not sleeping beside you with a breath like that.”

“You brush them,” he grumbles but moves into the bathroom to do it anyway. He gags when he brushes his tongue and Shaun prepares to push his head towards the toilet but thankfully he doesn’t throw up. Shaun steers him towards the bed and he falls into it so hard, it actually looks like it hurt. He throws his own night clothes on and slides into the bed, pulling  the covers over them both.

It isn’t how he expected to share a bed with Desmond for the first time either.

He turns his back towards Desmond and fluffs his pillow up, lying with his arms around it. Desmond keeps to his own side, already having fallen asleep.

He feels a little melancholy.

* * *

When Desmond wakes up the next morning, he’s extremely warm, sweating even. His mouth feels like cotton, his head is spinning, and he swears he might murder the relentless chirpring birds outside his window. He struggles to open his eyes and goes to rub at them only to find he can’t move his arm.

_ Not another fucking dream, please. _

He tugs at his arm violently but stills when there’s a grunt and a hand tightening on his hip. His eyes shoot open and he’s met with a thick, blonde, tuft of hair that tickles his nose, smelling distinctly of cedar, pine, and sweat. Slowly, he lifts his head away from the sleeping bundle and looks down — he must have migrated towards the middle of the bed during the night and tugged Shaun towards him. Shaun was curled up against Desmond’s side and lying on top of his arm, his ankle hooked over Desmond’s and leg tangled in his. One hand rested against Desmond’s clavicle and the other gripped his hip. His face was smushed against Desmond’s chest, his mouth open slightly and emitting soft snores. Desmond’s skin tingles at the closeness, set alight everywhere Shaun touches him as though Shaun is the sun.

Shaun fits perfectly against Desmond like he was made for him, like Desmond is his home. And Desmond can’t help but be angry that they could have been doing this earlier, could have had Shaun in his arms so long ago. He stares at Shaun, counting the freckles that dust over his nose, cheeks, and chin, pictures joining them up like constellations. His lips are a pale pink, his upper lip thin but with an accentuated cupid's bow, his bottom lip plump and chapped from him chewing on it. Without the glasses, his eyes seem smaller, but it allows Desmond to see how long his eyelashes are as they flutter against his cheek.

“I can feel you staring,” comes a deep mumble and it startles Desmond who thought he was still fast asleep.

“I can’t help it, this is the only time you don’t talk.”

The hand against Desmond’s collarbone comes down in a slap and Shaun rolls away from him with a grunt. His knees and back pops as he stretches and he collapses in a heap against Desmond’s side again. He grumbles something.

“What was that?”

“‘Said shut the fuck up,” Shaun groans, his voice thick with sleep. Pleasure tugs at Desmond as he feels Shaun’s mouth move against his chest, his breath warm along with tiny flicks of his tongue. He shifts his hips away from Shaun’s body but otherwise remains still, choosing to press a soft kiss into Shaun’s hair and bury his nose into it . Shaun pushes himself upward so that his lips trail absentmindedly against his shoulder, neck, and jaw. Desmond emits hitched breaths at the movement and noses at his forehead.

“This is nice and all but you’re lying on my arm and you’re pretty heavy.”

“You calling me fat?”

“Pretty much,” Desmond responds and laughs at the sour look on Shaun’s face as he sits up. He makes a show of rubbing his dead arm and whining and Shaun, more awake now, swats at him.

“Prick.” 

Shaun moves to clamber off of the bed but Desmond grabs his arm and tugs which sends him falling into a heap on top of Desmond, knocking the wind out of him. Desmond wraps his arm around Shaun’s neck and tugs him so that they’re spooning, Shaun’s back pressed against Desmond’s front.

“I gotta get ready for work,” Shaun says, reaching an arm backwards to poke at Desmond.

Desmond completely ignores him and asks, “did you really think I hated you?” Shaun stills against him and lets out a big sigh.

“I gotta get up,” he repeats.

“Shaun.”

“Yes, I thought you hated me. Yes, I pretended to hate you so that I wouldn’t feel as hurt about it. And yes, I’ve liked you for that long. What else do you want me to say?” Shaun refuses to look at him so Desmond climbs on top of him and peers down at him. 

“You know I could never hate you.”

“Well I know that  _ now _ ,” Shaun says petulantly and Desmond wants to kiss the pout from his lips.

“And you know I love you.”

Shaun’s face relaxes; his eyes become soft and his lips open in awe. They’ve been together for two months and Desmond still has such an effect over him, it’s almost comical. It’s only the second time that Desmond has told him those words but he thinks he’s going to start saying them more if it makes Shaun look so open and fond.

“I know that now too,” Shaun whispers and he pulls Desmond down to meet his lips. 

Shaun whimpers against his mouth and Desmond takes that chance to lick into his mouth and trace his lips with his tongue. Although the moment was tender, the kiss is anything but. He sucks and bites at Shaun’s lip, drawing what is most definitely a mewl from him and Desmond wishes he could hear him make that sound over and over, it going straight to his gut. He breaks the kiss and latches onto Shaun’s neck, licking and sucking and biting. Shaun gasps and shakes under him, hips twitching and hands grabbing anything they can touch. Those grabs turn into soft pats as Shaun tries to wriggle out from under him.

“Stop, stop,” he gasps and Desmond immediately lets up, albeit reluctantly. “I can’t, not now. I’m not ready,” and it’s almost an exact replica of when Desmond had told him he loved him. And like then, Desmond doesn’t care. He slows down and they go back to languidly making out without a care in the world.

Because for Shaun, Desmond would wait on his hands and knees for as long as he needed him to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ill be honest, idk when ill next post a chapter. im working on them in the background when i find the time. i have my plot n timeline all figured out etc its just a matter of sitting down and actually writing. so updates will be a lot slower than one chapter a week unfortunately :( ill do my best though.


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